HR 






An 

11 



Hii 

mmi 




Qass_£__ _ 
Book ! 



V 



THE SHADOW 



BY THE SAME 
AUTHOR 



THE SECRET WOMAN 

THE MOTHER 

DOWN DARTMOOR WAY 

CURTAIN RAISERS 

A BREEZY MORNING 

ETC. ETC. 



THE SHADOW 

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 

EDEN PHILLPOTTS 



NEW YORK 

BRENT ANO'S 
19H< 



1* '?< 



Printed in Great Britain 
By Ballantyne $ Co. Ltd. London 



M/ 



/f 



I 



CHARACTERS 

Willes Gay, a butcher. Aged 45. 

Thomas Turtle, a postmaster. Aged GO. 

Philip Blanchard, Willes Gay's man. Aged 28. 

ELIAS Waycott, a gamekeeper. Aged 30. 

Johnny Slocombe, a boy. Aged 12. 

Sarah Dunnybrig. Aged 60. 

Hester Dunnybrig, her daughter. Aged 25. 

Nanny COAKER, a poacher's wife. Aged 40. 

The scene is laid at Little Silver, a village on the edge of 
Dartmoor. 



CAST OF THE FIRST PERFORMANCE OF 



THE SHADOW 

AT THE GAIETY THEATRE, MANCHESTER, 

OCTOBER 6, 1913 

Produced bt Lewis Casson 



Willes Gay 
Thomas Turtle 
Philip Blanchard 
Elias Waycott 
Johnny Slocombe 
Sarah Dunnybrig 
Hester Dunnybrig 
Nanny Coakbr 



Percy Foster 
Brember Wills 
Julius Shaw 
Bernard Copping 
Tommy Nickson 
Lucy Beaumont 
Sybil Thorndike 
Mary Byron 



ACT I 

Scene : The little general shop of Sarah Dunnybrig at 
Little Silver, Dartmoor. A counter runs across 
the midst of the shop, and behind it are shelves 
divided by a glazed door ivith a curtain over the 
loiver panes. To the right of the door the shelves 
contain bottles of sweet stuff, boxes of chocolate and 
tins of biscuits. There are also on the counter 
bottles of ginger beer and groceries — butter, cheese t 
a piece of bacon, a box of bloaters, and a basket of 
eggs. To the left of the door the shelves hold bales 
of cloth and poxes of haberdashery. Hanging on 
strings across the shop are bright kerchiefs, pieces 
of lace, straw hats and stockings. Gay print 
stuffs are displayed, with ties, men J s braces and 
linen shirts. Beyond the groceries, to the left, is 
disposed hardware stock and ironmongery. Here 
are spades, scythes, billhooks, carpenter's tools, 
hedgers' gloves, brooms, a mangle and other things, 
including a card of the bright brass decorations 
that cart-horses wear on their harness, and cards 
of knives. In front of the counter, on the ground, 
are one or two open bags of flour, peas and grain, 
and upon the counter stands a large pair of scales 



8 THE SHADOW act i 

with weights. Advertisements of chocolate, dog- 
biscuit, wholemeal flour, chicken food and so forth 
hang ichere they can be displayed to advantage. 
There are one or two broad-sheets of sales of stock, 
and the jioster of a coming circus hanging from the 
counter. In large letters on a paper scroll hanging 
across the shop, ivherc all customers can read, are 
painted the words, " if you don't see what you 
want ask for it." At the left end of the counter is 
a hatch thrown open arid giving access from behind 
the counter into the shop. There is a door opening 
into the shop from the street. The upper half is 
glazed and a bell is fastened toit,ivhichrings when 
the door is opened. 

[The bell rings and Nanny Coaker enters. 
She looks round cautiously, but nobody 
answers the summons. She keeps her eye on 
the door behind counter, and slijjs a few 
biscuits into her pocket. Then she hammers 
upon the counter with a coin which she holds. 

Nanny. Shop! Shop! 

[Enter, from door behind counter, Sarah 

DUNNYBRIG. 

Sarah. [Sleepily.'] If I wasn't having forty winks, 
Nanny Coaker ! I hope I haven't wasted your time ? 

Nanny. No, no. I ain't been here a second. My 
husband's home again. 

Sarah. Has he come out in a Christian spirit ? 

Nanny. No, he ain't ; and more would you if they'd 



act i THE SHADOW 9 

given you a month's hard for stealing pheasants what 
you never took. 

Sarah. They proved it, Nanny. 

Nanny. Never! 'Twas only Elias Waycott's 
word against Mr. Coaker's. And who be Elias 
Waycott ? 

Sarah. 'Tis silly to talk like that. Everybody 
knows Elias. He's straight as a line. 

Nanny. He's like his uncle Jacob — a hateful, cruel 
devil. 

Sarah. Don't say such things. Mr. Jacob be a 
power in the land — rich and strong — and Elias is his 
lawful heir, and a man very well thought upon by his 
betters. 

Nanny. You wait — you wait and see what comes of 
it. My husband's a proper tiger when he's angered. 
He'll lie behind a hedge for gamekeeper, I shouldn't 
wonder ! He'll be evens with him — he's swore it — 
and I want half a pound of bacon for Mr. Coaker's 
supper. The poor wretch haven't put his teeth into 
a bit of decent meat since they locked him up. 

Sarah. [Taking knife and cutting and weighing 
bacon.] I hope he'll be good and peaceful. 'Tis very 
sad that such a clever man as him should always be in 
mischief. 

Enter Willes Gay. 

Nanny. My husband's home again, Mr. Gay. 
Gay. And how did he like it ? 
Nanny. The work was nought. 



10 THE SHADOW act i 

Gat. There's no man works so hard to escape work 
as your man. [To Sarah.] Have 'e got any more of 
them big meat hooks, Mrs. Dunnybrig ? 

Sarah. You had the last. Shall I order some ? 

Gay. Tis no odds. I can do without. And I'll 
take back one of they fine bloaters for my missis. 

Nanny. There's nought a woman with child fancies 
like a bloater. 'Twas the same with me ; I properly 
raged for 'em. 

Sarah. [Handing over bacon, which she has wrapped 
up in apiece 0/ 'newspaper .] Fourpence, Nanny, please. 
[Nanny gives her a shilling, and she opens 
till for change. 

Gay. God knows how I shall come through it. My 
knees knock when I think about it. There's five 
thousand women die in child-bed every year, I'm 
told. 

Sarah. All along of tight-lacing. 'Tis their own 
fault — not Nature's. Vanity have been the death of 
millions of us. 

Gay. You can't bring that against my Eliza. She's 
broader than she's long. An uglier woman don't 
live ; and she knows it. 

Nanny. She's all right. 'Tis shameful such a 
prosperous man as you should look on the dark side 
of things. 

Gay. I grant you I'm never hopeful for myself ; 
but I always take a bright view about everybody 
else. 

Nanny. No use being a cheerful man to your 



act i THE SHADOW 11 

neighbours if you behave like a death's head at 
home. 

Sarah. [Giving Nanny a handful of biscuits.] 
Here's a present for your childer. 

Nanny. You kind creature! I was looking at 
them biscuits and thinking of my little boys just 
afore you come in the shop. Well, good evening. 
And you cheer up your wife, Mr. Gay, like you cheer 
up other people. And tell her to walk the soles off 
her shoes, instead of sitting to home mooning over 
' ; The Churching of Women." Time enough for that 
presently. [Exit Nanny Coaker. 

Gay. Us'll hope her husband's had his lesson and 
will be a reformed character in future. 

Sarah. He's breathing out vengeance against the 
gamekeeper, Elias Waycott, that had him put away. 
[She gives him fish wrapped up in paper.] 

Gay. [Handing twopence to Sarah and putting the 
fish into his pocket.] There's a man, now ! 

Sarah. Don't you say nothing against him to me. 

Gay. Not I. A very proper, honest chap. You 
want Elias for a son-in-law — eh ? 

Sarah. And why not ? 

Gay. A good, gentle, sensible creature, and he have 
a great power of friendship. 

[Enter Thomas Turtle. He carries a sheet of 
notepaper. 

Gay. Here's postmaster ! Good evening, post- 
master. 

Turtle. Good evening, Willes Gay. You are 



12 THE SHADOW act i 

fortunate to be here. Something has happened — a 
very remarkable, dangerous thing. 

Sarah. There ! And if I wasn't saying but yester- 
ev6n that nought ever happens in Little Silver. 

Turtle. We have our share of adventures — and 
everything comes to my ears first. Nothing misses 
me. 

Gay. Us all run to you, postmaster, because you be 
made of brains — to say it civilly. 

Sarah. There's none can put two and two together 
like you, Mr. Turtle. 

Turtle. The Lord helping — always the Lord 
helping. 'Tis only by keeping my eyes on Heaven 
that I walk the earth so steady, Butcher Gay. 

Gay. A regular prophet, I'm sure. 

Turtle. I don't say that. Tis a big word ; yet 
I'm often surprised to see how the Almighty and me 
look at things from the same point of view. [Giving 
paper to Sarah.] This document must be stuck up on 
the winder, Mrs. Dunnybrig, for all eyes to see. In 
a word, Farmer Waycott is missing and there's every 
reason to fear the worst. 

Sarah. Good powers ! Jacob Waycott ! 

Gay. A very powerful, rich man ; and yet a very 
hard man where money's concerned. Would sell the 
primrosen off his mother's grave, that man. 

Turtle. He may be dead, and you mustn't speak 
against the dead, Willes Gay, because their mouths 
are stopped. The dead have no friends. Jacob 
Waycott's pony has been found with its neck broken 



act i THE SHADOW 13 

in Cann Quarry — saddle and reins and stirrups and 
all complete. And the bit in its teeth, they say, 
But Jacob Waycott has not been found. 

Sarah. My stars! If he's gone, 'twill be a far 
reaching thing. 

Gay. A lot of difference 'twill make all round. A 
good few I could name will dance for joy — to say it 
civilly. 

Sarah. I'm in a twitter a'ready. This means 

Gay. It means my man, Philip Blanchard, will be 
after your Hester — that's one thing it means. 

Sarah. Yes, faith — and another besides him — 
Jacob's nephy ! 

Turtle. If old Waycott 's gone, then Elias Waycott 
will be greatly uplifted. He's a very humble chap, 
but a well-meaning Christian. I shall support him 
for one. 

Gay. And so shall I. And my Eliza, too. 

Sarah. But Jacob may be living. 

Turtle. I think he's dead. 'Tis borne in upon 
me that he's dead. I see it afore my mind's eye. 
The pony runs away in Cann Wood. 

Gay. And Jacob be brushed off its back, like a fly 
off a mutton chop. 

Turtle, They'll find him presently, and bury him 
along with the Waycott race, where they lie in their 
solemn company north side the yard. A great funeral 
'twill be. 

Gay. A black revel, I warrant you ; and better 
than a fair for most folk. 



14 THE SHADOW act i 

Turtle. He did evil in the sight of the Lord, and 
I was the only man brave enough to tell him so. 
But we must not judge. 

Sarah. There'll be few tear r flowing — unless 
Elias 

Gay. 'Twill take an onion in his handkerchief to 
bring 'em. You can't ask the people to weep. 'Tis 
enough if they don't shout for joy when the earth 
rattles on that man. 

Turtle. He's met his Maker and his Judge. And, 
looking forward, I see the future unroll as doth a scroll. 

Gay. Trust you for that. 

Sarah. Just when we were saying nothing ever 
happened, Mr. Gay ! 

Gay. Why, the world was never so full of things 
happening. There's this here fearful adventure, and 
Mrs. Gay with child, and the war in South Africa, 
and Lord knows what beside. Take my man, Philip 
Blanchard — this puts him on his feet again for one. 
Because, if Mr. Jacob be gone, young Elias will reign, 
and he'll let off many a debtor and be gentle and 
patient with all. 

Turtle. Don't be too sure of that. Sometimes the 
soft get hard in self-defence when they find the whip 
in their hand. Besides, 'tis well known to me that 
Jacob was very angry with his nephy so late as 
yesterday. Raged against him above all reason. 
Still, there's been no time to do anything, and if the 
old man has been snatched to his account, then Elias 
inherits for certain. 



act i THE SHADOW 15 

Sarah. And that means — oh, what don't it mean ? 
Elias wants my Hester, and has been after her this 
two years in his humble, patient fashion. And Philip 
Blanchard too — he'll be on to her hot and fierce and 
fiery now — as only such a red man knows how to be. 
For he's free to wed. 

Gay. Two on the war-path ! 

Turtle. All these things are known to me. I can 
see cause and effect working as easily as common 
men can see the rain falling out of a cloud. Phil 
Blanchard knows that Elias won't force the mortgage 
and ruin him ; and Elias, knowing that money is 
power, will 

Gay. Why, of course. 

Turtle. Hush, Gay — I'm speaking. It follows 
that both young fellows 

Enter Elias Waycott. 

Turtle. Ah ! Men don't call me a prophet for 
nothing, Elias ! 

Elias. I — I. What a rally of neighbours ! 

Turtle. We understand you, Elias, and we think 
none the worse of you. The police are busy. Your 
late uncle will soon be found. 

Elias. Such a little, light man ! No doubt he was 
thrown and 

Turtle. He's dead. I can see him lying in the 
woods with his busy brains scattered round him. 

Sarah. 'Tis a wisht thought 

Gay. Give you joy of the future, Elias, I shall 



16 THE SHADOW act i 

pray for your happiness, because you are a very wise 
and clever young man, in my opinion. I hope you'll 
do nothing but good, and make the name of Waycott 
bring blessings instead of curses. 

Elias. Thank you, Mr. Gay. 'Tis a great re- 
sponsibility. Time enough — time enough. I'm here 
now 

Sarah. She's out. She'll be back along any 
minute. 

Turtle. Well, the future's in God's hands, as usual, 
and I think He's on your side, Elias ; and if He is, 
then so am I. When first I mind you, you was just a 
little, gentle, girl-faced, orphan boy, and I never ex- 
pected that you'd take to gamekeeping for a living. 
But human nature's full of surprises ; though, in fair- 
ness to myself, I can say it don't often surprise me. 

Elias. I liked the open air life. 'Tis quiet and 
lonely. And I liked the wild creatures. 

Turtle. It draws young people, same as the sea do. 
There's a spice of danger and darkness to it. 

Gay. Poacher Coaker, for instance. He's got his 
knife in you proper — for bearing witness against him. 

Elias. I was very sorry about that. I'd cautioned 
him twice. I had no choice, Mr. Gay. We've all got 
to do our duty. 

Gay. You watch it, however — a very revengeful 
man. 

Turtle. You'll have to lift your brain to higher 
things than pheasants and hares now, Elias 

Elias. I suppose I shall, postmaster. 



act i THE SHADOW 17 

Gay. No doubt you'll soon larn to handle money as 
easy as you handle ferrets. 

Elias. Money can bite, too, they say. I'm all in 
a miz-maze about it. But there's one thing 

Turtle. [Tolerantly.] I know— I know. What 
don't I know ? She's a bowerly maiden and a steady 
church-goer. You'll offer a reward for the body, of 
course? As a matter of worldly wisdom, I advise 
that, for if by any chance he isn't dead and comes to 
life again, 'twould hurt his feelings and anger him a 
good bit if you'd done nothing to find him. 

Gay. You make a fuss, Elias. It won't bring him 
to life, please God, so you need fear nought. 

Turtle. Let me advise you to offer twenty pounds 
and no less for the carcase of the man. 

Elias. Say fifty, postmaster, 

Gay. By gor ! You're going it. 

Turtle. I will tell them at the Police Station that 
you offer fifty pounds for the discovery of Jacob 
Waycott's body — dead or alive. 

[Writes it on the note-paper he is carrying. 

Gay. Not if he's alive, surely ? 

Turtle. 'Tis only a matter of form. He's dead- 
haven' t I said so ? 

Gay. An ugly corpse that man— the very foxes 
would run from it. 

Turtle. Be careful how you tell these things to 
your wife, Butcher Gay. You don't want your off- 
spring to be born with a blood-red hand on his forehead, 
nor nothing like that. 



18 THE SHADOW act i 

Gay. Good Lord, postmaster ! Tis bad enough as 
it is without no horrors. When you think that every 

year five thousand women 

[Exeunt Willes Gay and Thomas Turtle. 

Elias. 'Tis safe enough. He's gone. I'm so sure 
he's dead as I'm sure I'm alive. And, of course, my 
first thought was your Hester. I hope it don't seem 
as if I was in too much of a hurry; but I'm so 
terrible feared that 

Sarah. I hope she's for you. I'd wish nothing 
better for her. But I can't tell you what she's 
thinking about. She keeps her heart inside her lips 
even from me. She's a guarded sort of woman. But 
she's always spoke of you with great kindness and 
respect. 

Elias. She's far too good for me, or any man ; but 
if true love and worship counts 

Enter Johxny Slocombe. 

Johnny. A penn'orth of pineapple drops, please 
ma'am. 

Sarah. So you shall then, Johnny. How's your 
father to-day ? 

Johnny. [Putting down penny.] He's a lot better 
along o' hearing Mr. Waycott be lost. [Takes the 
sweets.] Faither says if Mr. Waycott be gone dead, 
he'll hoist up his jubilee flag and go and get drunk 
for joy. 

Sarah. He didn't ought to talk like that. 



act i THE SHADOW 19 

Johnny. Didn't he, ma'am ? I'll tell him. But 
he hated Mr. Waycott that fearful. 

[Exit Johnny Slocombe. 

Sarah. Who didn't, for that matter ? 

Elias. He was a man without any milk of human 
kindness. 'Twas dried up in him. All for power he 
was. 

Sarah. He ruled by fear. 

Elias. We were sadly out at the end — him and me. 

Sarah. Like a bit of stone when his mind was 
made up. 

Elias. I did the best I could to pleasure him. 
Many little friendly actions in my small way I did, Mrs. 
Dunnybrig. But a man's a man and can't do impos- 
sible things. He wanted me to marry Milly Masters ; 
and her father was set on it too. Then they'd have 
had a ring fence round their two big, famous farms 
and died happy. 

Sarah. You can't make young people marry to 
build old men's ring fences — 'tisn't in reason. [Look' 
ing out of window,] Here's my girl coming. I'll be 
gone and leave you to set on to her. Stick this in the 
window, Elias. Tis ready gummed. 

[She gives Elias the paper that Mr. Turtle 
brought, and then goes off through door 
behind counter. Elias licks the paper, 
sticks it on to glass window of shop door 
and then opens the door for Hester 
Dunnybrig. 



20 THE SHADOW act i 

Enter Hester Dunnybrig. 
Elias. Good evening, Hester. 
Hester. You ! I didn't expect you to-night, 
Bain't you too busy to run about ? 

Elias. The first business of my life was here. 
Hester. 'Tis a terrible come-along-of-it. 'Twould 
be false to say I'm sorry for you. I'm like the rest — 
glad for you ; and glad for others beside you. 

Elias. I know — I know. It seems hard-hearted, 
yet 'tis natural. He kept a heavy hand on Little 
Silver. 

Hester. Tom Nosworthy was saying in his comical 
way, that they did ought to put up a statue to the 
pony. But us can't swear he's dead yet. 

Elias. He's dead, Hester. I feel it — else I 
wouldn't be here on my great errand. He's met a 
fatal mishap and they'll find him in Cann Woods afore 
long. So like as not I shall myself this night. I've 
offered fifty pounds for him and master has thrown 
open the woods for the searchers. 

Hester. You'll be rich now ; and never a man like 
to use the money kinder or cleverer. 

Elias. Rich — eh? Shall I be rich, I wonder? 
Money can't buy what I want. So I'm neither richer 
nor poorer yet. But I'm free — if he's gone, I'm free ; 
and I'll not speak scornful of money neither, for it 
rounds the corners of life and smoothes the rough 
places. But first — first — afore all — oh, Hester, 'tis 
a rash and reckless thing ; but 'tis humble too — I'd 
be humble and daring in a breath if I could. I feel 



act i THE SHADOW 21 

hopeless about it, yet 'tis no use feeling that. T ought 
to have a cheerful conceit of myself, because you 
can't fight proper if you don't think you be going to 
win. Yet how can a man like me dare to think he 
be going to win — you ? But so it is, Hester. I love 
you and I have done this two year. So long ago as 
that I began — a queer, gentle, sad feeling first. It 
drove me to the deepest places in the woods. Then 
it growed to be the salt of my waking hours. It made 
me feel I was born, Hester. And the day without 
a sight of you was a blank day ; and the day I saw 
you was a good day ; and the day I spoke to you and 
touched your hand was a day of days. A wonderful, 
deep-moving creation — love of woman. It made me 
kinder to all the world. It made me kill the creatures 
kinder — aye, and be sorry to kill 'em. I'm glad I 
shan't kill no more now. ... So there it is — I offer 
myself — though a thing of little wit or worth. . . . 
A poor sort of husband, I reckon ; but God's my 
judge, I'd leave no prayer of yours unanswered that 
was in my power to grant. My love be like this : I 
want for your life to be all peace and plenty and your 
days all joy. I'd be doorkeeper for you, Hester, 
and stand between you and everything that's sad 
and cruel and difficult. That's the best I can plan 
for myself — just to help make your life a better 
thing. 

Hester. You gentle creature ! Was ever such a 
man as you, Elias ? You teach a girl to say " no " to 
you, by the humble fashion you ask. 



22 THE SHADOW act i 

Eltas. Do I, Hester ? 

Hester. For sure. 'Tisn't the way to make love, I 
reckon. And yet 'tis beautiful. Only the world's 
hard — hard and busy and selfish and miserable. And 
when people like you come along and offer everything 
for nothing, like cheap Jack at the Fair, the world 
doubts 'em, or else laughs at 'em. 

Elias. You can't have anything for nothing, 
Hester. 

Hester. No, you can't. So 'tis silly to think to be 
doorkeeper to a woman's life and say you're content 
to stand on her threshold and fright away trouble. 
A scarecrow does that for corn. Marriage be bed and 
board and give and take and rough and tumble, for 
better, for worse. Tis reality — not make-believe — a 
live, working thing — built to stand a lifetime if it be 
built right. You mustn't make your wife an image 
to pray to. She's got to be half yourself and share 
the fight as well as the fun. And she's got to love 
as well as be loved. 

Elias. That's right. 'Tis marriage in a nutshell — 
to share all — love included. 'Twould be awful for a 
woman to give her body and keep back her heart. 

Hester. Awful sometimes ; sometimes only cruel 
sad. If I took you, Elias — there'd be no sadness 
like our sadness. 

Elias. You can't love me, Hester. 
Hester. I do love you ; I won't lie ; but 'tis cold 
comfort and you needn't look like that. I'm not very 
clever at finding ^words and this beats me ; but I've 



act i THE SHADOW 23 

got to explain. Of course a woman knows like 
lightning when a man loves her. Only men blunder 
about that; women never. I've seen this longful 
time that you meant to offer when the way was 
smooth. So 'tis no surprise. And I say again, Elias, 
that I do love you, for you're a rare sort of chap 
and a woman ought to be proud to take your fancy. 
But — oh, 'tis hard to explain 

Elias. Then don't try. I understand without 
words. There's things beyond words. This is not 
your fault — only my misfortune. You love me in a 
sort of way — you've said it. But not the marriage 
way. Just cool friendship — eh, Hester ? 

Hester. 'Tis like you to make it easy for me. Yes, 
I'm proud to be your friend — always, always. There 
never was a man just like you afore ; and the strange- 
ness of you and the gentleness of you will always 
stand against you with us stupid fools. 

Elias. I daresay I could be a bit more bold and 
blusterous if I was to try, Hester. 

Hester. Not you — you're a gentleman — that's 
what's the matter with you, Elias. And I ain't 
used to that sort. A man I understand, but not a 
gentleman. 

Elias. Good-bye for the present, Hester. You'll 
forgive me for asking ? 

Hester. Forgive you ! You're one in a thousand 
I tell you — rarer than that gold bird as came 
to the woods in the spring. [Takes his hand.] 
And if 'tis in our power to serve you, me and mine 



24 THE SHADOW act i 

will proudly do so ; I pray you'll let us be your 
friends. 

Elias. You and yours— it lies there, Hester. I 

understand. And I say « God bless you and yours." 

[The bell rings violently and the door is thrust 

open. E?iter Philip Blanchard in his 

ivorking clothes— a butcher's blue blouse, 

ivith blood-stained white ap?°on over it. 

Philip. What ho, Elias ! Give 'e good luck, my 
son ! Everybody's in a hurry to think this brave 
news be true, and none more than me. But I say 'tis 
too good to be true. Such rare fortune don't happen. 

Elias. You mean my uncle Jacob ? I judge it's 
true enough, Blanchard. 

Philip. A worthless, hard-hearted old devil- 
though your uncle. He ground the face of the poor 
for fifty years and I hope he'll be found, if 'tis only 
for the pleasure we'll all take in spitting on his grave. 
And come to think of it, we're all at your mercy now, 
Elias! 

Hester. A man made of mercy. 

Elias. [To Hester.] Good-bye. I shall be busy 
for a bit now. We may not meet again very quick. 

Hester. You're welcome as the flowers whenever 
you be pleased to come, Elias. 

[She goes to the door and opens it for him. 

Philip. Don't you get down- daunted and woe- 
begone and frightened because you be rich, Waycott. 
You'll soon grow used to it. And don't you ax me to 
touch my hat to 'e, because I never will. Ha, ha ! 



act i THE SHADOW 25 

Elias. I shall be just the same as I was afore, 
Blanchard, 

Philip. You think so, but you won't. 

[Exit Elias Waycott. 

Philip. The power in that meek chap's hands ! 
Think of it. Just a fly stings a pony, and it bolts and 
lets the life out of a rascal ; and then the whole face 
of the world is changed. 

Hester. Because a good man follows a bad. 

Philip. Exactly so ! And you know where I'd have 
the first change fall — you know — behind them beauti- 
ful, misty, grey eyen of yours. The first moment I heard 
it, it flashed over me like a flame of fire ! " I can ax her 
now," I said. And here I be, and I'll answer as well 
as ax, for I'll not take " no " — not from your own lips 
will I take it — no, nor yet if all the angels in heaven 
and devils in hell said " no ! " I've been burning 
away for 'e for a thousand years, and roaming out o' 
nights, and damning the moon, and blasting fate and 
chance and biting my nails to the quick — look at 'em 
— and all to hit on a plan. And now — Hester — for 
God's sake come in here — inside my arms quick and 
say you'll marry me afore Michaelmas — else there'll 
be nothing but cinders left of me. 

Hester. Oh, Phil, d'you mean it ? Such a fiery, 
headlong, godless man as you be. I'm afeard of 'e. 

Philif. You afeard ? You ban't afeard of nothing 
on two legs— that I'll swear. And I'd lay down all 
my lives for 'e, if I had as many as a cat. You 
darling thing — almost too soft and round for a gert 



26 THE SHADOW act i 

chap like me to cuddle. Yet I'll be so gentle — so 
gentle as I be when I kill the lambs ! Greedy — greedy 
as the grave I be for 'e, Hester ! All — all — body and 
soul I'll have — not a very patient build of man — you 
know that. But — come close — come close. Oh God, 
I want to eat you ! 

Hester. You savage thing ! 

Philip. I'll do deeds above all that was ever done 
for 'e ! I'd fight this world and the next for 'e. And 
you're the fighting sort, for all you're such a soft- 
eyed creature. There's a lot of granite hid in you too. 

Hester. You've got to be hard to the world. 

Philip. Hard to the world but soft to each other. 
Dark to the world but light to each other. 

Hester. You trust nought and believe in nought 
save yourself, Phil. 'Tis dangerous. 

Philip. I'll believe in you then ; and I'll believe 
in God if you'll take me. 'Tis only a fine, waking, 
working God could make such a piece as you for a 
man. [Puts his arms round her. 

Hester. Before I speak- 

PHiLir. You have spoke, else you wouldn't be 
here. Your eyes have spoke, and your round bosom 
panting like the sea ! I be drownin' in joy ! 

Hester. And so be I, Phil. 

[Their lips join and remain joined, 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 

Scene : Parlour of i Philip Blanchard's cottage. 
Time evening. Upon a table in the middle of the 
room stand a bottle of spirits and glasses. An oil 
lamp burns on the table and a woman's workbox 
and saving lie under the light. Two old easy chairs 
stand beside the hearth, where a small fire burns. 
A kettle steams on the hob. Over the mantelshelf 
and on the ivalls are familiar old pictures from 
illustrated journals. A few pot plants stand on 
the window-sill and the white blinds are drawn 
behind them. The room is poor, but not lacking 
in comfort, and the light is bright and genial. Six 
months have jmssed since the events of the first 
Act. 

[Enter Philip Blanch ard, followed by Sarah 
Dunnybrig. 

Philip. She'll be down house in a minute. We've 
got a visitor to-night. 

Sarah. I had a message for her from Mrs. Gay, 
that's all. She's feeling worse than usual and very 
wishful for Hester's company. 

Philip. Bother the woman ! But, of course, she 
27 



28 THE SHADOW act ii 

must go. Willes Gay means to let me have a share 
in the business. 

Sarah. A share ? That's news. 

Philip. Keep it quiet. He'll bring it out in his 
own time. No credit to me, I reckon, but thanks to 
Hester. His wife dotes on her, and she must keep in 
with Eliza Gay, of course. 

Sarah. Who be coming to-night, then ? 

Philip. A very big man. No less than Elias 
Waycott. 

Sarah. I heard he was home. 

Philip. Yes — back from his travels. Very near 
round the world he's wandered, they say. But he's 
the man he always was, and be coming without 
any fuss to see me and Hester. The world don't 
change him. He'd be just so humble if he'd travelled 
to the moon. 

Sarah. How things happen ! I prayed to God six 
months ago that Hester would take him and not you, 
Phil. 

Philip. Natural enough, mother. I don't blame 
you. He's worth a hundred of me — in money and 
brains both. 

Sarah. Not for Hester. The Lord knowed best. 
You was the man for her. Bright as a rose and joyous 
as a bird on a bough is she. She told me a bit 
back-along that she never thought no human could 
be so happy as her. 

Philip. Same here. I wouldn't change with the 
King of England. The world's a very good place. 



act ii THE SHADOW 29 

Sarah. 'Tis like Elias to harbour no feeling. Or if 
he do, he'll hide it. 

[Enter Hester. She carries a bright gilt clock. 
Philip hastens f or imrd andtakes itfromher. 

Hester. 'Tis Elias— his wedding gift, you re- 
member. Too grand to use every day till we get up 
in the world a bit and have a better house presently. 
But he's coming to-night, so I thought us would put 
it on the mantelshelf. 

Philip. You clever woman ! I'll wind it up. 

[Looks at his watch and sets the clock going. 

Sarah. Mrs. Gay wants you— 'tis that I came for. 
She's took very queer and thinks she's going to die 
afore morning. 

Hester. I'll run over a bit later. I can't come 
just yet. Stop and see Elias, mother. 

Sarah. Nay, I must be gone— I'm busy. And 
I'm terrible glad to hear this about Phil and Mr. Gay. 

Hester. A share in the business— 'tis great news. 

Sarah. So 'tis then. Us'll hope 'tis the beginning 
of fortune. [Kisses Hester.] Good night— good Dight, 

Phil. 

Philip. Good night, mother. 

[Exit Sarah Dunnybrig. 

Philip. Put out the box of pipes, Hester. He 
loved a long clay— like all they thoughtful men. 
And don't forget the lemon and sugar. He'll see 
you a bit fatter than you was. 

Hester. And a mighty deal happier. 

Philip. Yet us didn't ought to be too cheerful 



SO THE SHADOW act ii 

afore him neither, for 'twill make him feel the more 
what he's lost. 

Hester. You thoughtful man ! But 'tis hard to 
pull a long face when you be full of good news. He's 
not the sort to grudge us our happiness. We shall 
have our bad times like the rest. 

Philip. Never — not so long as we can 

[Puts his arms round her and kisses her. She 
returns the embrace. There is a knock at 
the door. 
Philip. Here, dammy ! Us can't be honeymooning 
for ever ! 

[Hester goes to the door and admits Elias 
Waycott. She shakes hands with him 
very warmly. 

Hester. You're properly welcome, I'm sure. Come 
in — come in. 

Philip. Give me your coat — fur on the collar — 
look, Hester ! I lay Dartymoor air strikes terrible 
shrewd after foreign parts, Elias ? 

Elias. 'Tis good to breathe it again, however. 

Philip. Well, you be the monkey that have seen 
the world, and no mistake ! 

Elias. So I have — so I have ; but there's no place 
like home, Philip. 

Hester. Be you going to live in your uncle's 
house ? 

Elias. I shall do so. 

Philip. And turn farmer ? 



act ii THE SHADOW 61 

Elias. I'm doubtful as to that. But work I must. 

Philip. Tired of play I reckon. Do 'e smoke the 
old " churchwardens," or be you got too fine now ? 

Elias. I've given up tobacco. 

Philip. Well, well— that's bad ! 

Hester. Sit down, Elias. 

Elias. Life's a very wonderful thing when you see it 
like what I have — all colours and in all countries. 

Philip. I'll warrant 'tis a proper circus. You'll 
drink anyway — Hester's mixing. You mustn't say 
"no" to that. 

Elias. Just a spot then — no more. 

[Hester brews some drink. 

Elias. You see, Nature's been my guide till now — 
just the life of the woods and the wild creatures. 
But I soon found it weren't enough. You can't 
learn the truth from squirrels ; you can't pick up the 
wisdom of the world and your duty to the worldjrom 

trees. I be a poor learner But I'm not here to 

chatter about myself. 

Hester. Yes, yes ; that's what we want to hear. 
You found the world a big place ? 

Elias. That I have, Mrs. Blanchard. 

Hester. " Hester " to you, Elias. 

Philip. There's too much sea in the world from the 
look of the map — that's what I always say. 

Elias. Not a drop ! The sea's a great peace-maker. 
It have kept humans off each other's throats time and 
again ; and given the nations a chance to still their 
anger and hatred afore they come to blows. 



32 THE SHADOW act n 

Philip. Well, you be going to set the world right 
with the best of them now — such a clever, deep chap 
as you be. 

Elias. I must try and set myself right. I've been 
reading a pack of books. 'Tis strange how these 
wise men, that write the books, do think things 
out to the bottom, till your head spins. Yet even 
the wisest of 'em contradict each other — just like 
you and I might, Philip ! 

Philip. That's their way of fighting — to tell each 
other they be damned liars — in book language. 

Elias. Some men fight the world and some turn 
their backs on the world and fight themselves. But 
to tell the truth I'm no fighter. 

Philip. There's happiness to be got out of fighting 
all the same, and there's the glory of winning. 

Hester. The poor have got to fight. 

Elias. When you name " happiness " — you name a 
very queer contrivance. The path of happiness be 
hid, like the path of a bird in the air. It's going and 
coming is a secret. It don't depend on fighting, or 
running away, nor on money, nor poverty, nor on 
sense, nor luck, nor health, nor sickness. Happiness 
be a natural gift, like Hester's grey eyes and your 
great arm, Phil ; and life can't make you miserable 
if Nature's planned for you to be happy. 

Hester. That's right enough — look at me and my 
husband. 

Elias. I was always a twilight sort of man myself ; 
but the less you hope, the less you'll suffer. 



act ii THE SHADOW 33 

Hester. A great gift of looking backward you had, 
and living in the past. 

Elias Not a very tight hold on the future — nor 
yet on life for that matter. God forgive me, I doubt 
if I ever value life enough. Yes, I cast my gaze a 
good bit behind me. The past always seemed a sad 
thing to me — just because 'twas gone for ever and 
ever. 

Philip. There's always the future and the chance 
of luck. The past be dead ; the future's alive. 

Elias. That queer I was as a stripling boy ! Why, 
I'd mourn that I couldn't bathe in the same river 
twice, because the water was always running away ! 

Philip. What a thought ! 

Elias. Then again I could find it in me to be sorry 
for the flowers. For why? Because no flower ever 
sees its own fruit, 

Philip. [Looking at his ivife.] I know a flower as 
will. [To Elias.] These be brain-sick fancies — not 
worthy of such a man as you, Elias. Yet I'll grant 
this — the less wit, the more happiness, Maybe that's 
why I'm so cheerful and always laughing. 

Elias. If you see the kingdoms of the world in a 
thinking spirit, you can't be happy no more. 

Philip. Then I'll bide at home and look no deeper 
than my own hopes. Yet you're one of the lucky 
ones, for you've been poor and you are rich. You see 
clear, because you know what the poor know, and 
money can never blind you, like it does them that are 
born to it. 

o 



34 THE SHADOW act ii 

Hester. Be the lawyers all friendly, Elias ? 

Elias. Couldn't be more so. But the Law's a very 
cautious creature. The Law won't let a vanished man 
be dead for seven year. But in my case, that don't 
make it difficult, because there's no will and I'm sole 
heir. 

Hester. I've often thought the old man was 
knocked on the head — else surely his bones would 
have been found afore now. 

Elias. 'Tis a fearful idea, but the lawyers and the 
police are of the same mind. 

Philip. There's a score of ill-used men must have 
itched to do it. 

Elias. Like enough. He was a great devourer of 
widow's houses and merciless in his dealings. The 
books show that. Cruel hard where money was the 
matter. 

Philip. Take me — I might have done it. Take 
you — you might have done it. And if the murderer 
turned up to-morrow, there's not a man on earth 
would want to punish him. 

Elias. Don't talk so rash and reckless, Philip. 
There's the Law — a dark, heartless thing above 
all feeling. There's Justice, which works for 
the dead as well as for the living. And murder's 
murder, and Justice hangs a man for it. 

Philip. [Laughing.] Then be hanged to Justice 
and let the Law swing on its own gallows afore it 
finds the doer. 

Elias. I'd sooner think 'twas a fatal accident, and 



act ii THE SHADOW 35 

that he'd been knocked off his pony and flung down 
one of they holes of the old copper mine in Cann Wood. 

Hester. He might lie there till doom and never be 
found. 

Philip. No carrion will choke a crow, so we'll hope 
the birds and foxes and other varmints got a meal off 
his bones. One stinging wasp less in the world. But 
he stored a bit of stolen honey for others to use. 
Afore my father died he bested Jacob Waycott, and 
old Jacob got back on me. That's how 'twas. He 
wouldn't let me pay the mortgage on they fields 
that father left me, though they were my whole 
fortune. " The sins of the fathers shall break the 
children's backs," that's what he said, and laughed to 
see my trouble. 

Elias. That'll be all right, Philip. There's none 
to question what I'm pleased to do. 

Hester. You good man ! There's many be bless- 
ing you already. 

Elias. What for? 'Tis common fair play. I 
only want peace; and the best way to get peace 
yourself is to bring it to others. 

Philip. Peace ban't everything. 'Tis a sure sign 
you be getting old when you seek peace and the 
chimney-corner. I'm for a bit o' fighting, and 
dancing, and laughing I am— so's Hester. 

Elias. 'Tis a great gift of laughter you always 
had. I envy you that. 

Hester. Us must larn you to laugh, Elias. 

[Fills his glass again. 



36 THE SHADOW act n 

Philip. A tramp taught me to laugh. A lazy, 
worthless dog, and dead years agone. Laughed at 
work; laughed at wickedness; laughed at forty 
shillings or a month ; laughed at the justices of the 
peace ; laughed at life, and, when it came, laughed at 
death. I sometimes think if I was to listen, I'd hear 
him laughing still in his nameless grave, 

[A knock at the door. Philip opens it and 

admits Willes Gay, who enters hatless 

and very anxious and haggard. 

Philip. Good Lord, master ! What's come to 'e ? 

Gay. Fatherhood's come to me ! They be making 

me a father so fast as it can be done, and I must have 

company. The bolt have fallen. The doctor's there, 

and when I stood before him in all the solemn terror 

of a coming father, he told me to run away and play ! 

Those were his words. My wife face to face with 

death or victory— and I'm told to run away and play ! 

Elias. There's a tribe of savages that put the 

fathers to bed, and make a terrible fuss over 'em 

when a child be going to be born. 

Gay. Ah ! The heathen know a bit ! Even they 
cannibals have got their proper feelings seemingly. 
I'd be only too thankful to go to bed this minute ; 
but 'twould be told against me. I heard you was 
back, Elias Waycott. Excuse me if I walk up and 
down. 'Tis a fearful strain— especially when you 
think that five thousand die of it every year. 

Hester. I was going over to Mrs. Gay presently. 
Gay. She can't see you now. She can't see anyone. 



act ii THE SHADOW 37 

Mrs. Tippets is along with her — far too hopeful that 
woman. 

Philip. [Giving Gay a drink.] Here, sup this off 
and take another, master. You want a drop of 
courage. 

Gay. If there'd been time, I'd have sent for a 
second doctor — one who knows what it is to be a 
father himself. These bachelor men haven't been 
through the hell of it, or they wouldn't 

Elias. Keep your nerve, Mr. Gay. After all 'tis 
your own fault. No man need enter into matrimony 
if they be faint-hearted about childer. 'Tis the men 
decide what women shall be mothers, not the women 
— eh, Hester? 

Hester. [Laughing.] And the women only too glad 
of the chance as a rule. Most of us wait, like apples 
on the bough, and hope for the hand to come and 
pluck us afore we grow over-ripe. 

Gay. That's what I say. The dark deed is ours 
every time ; and so the remorse falls on our shoulders. 

Philip. Remorse ! What ugly stuff be that ? A 
scarecrow to fright fools, I reckon. You wait till 
you've got a brave babby yowling the roof off your 
house ! Then you'll feel ten year younger and 
hungry for a dozen of 'em. Here's luck and a fine 
young butcher afore morning ! [Drinks. 

Gay. As to that, if 'tis a boy, he'll be certain sure 
to want to go to sea. My wife's people be all sailors, 
and the child takes after the mother. 

Hester. Perhaps 'twill be a little maid. 



38 THE SHADOW act n 

Gay. I hope so — she couldn't go to sea. I'd dote 
on a daughter ; but I'm not one of the lucky ones. 

Elias. You mustn't say that, or good luck will 
leave you. 

Gay. 'Tis you be fortunate, Elias Waycott. Not a 
chick nor child — not a care. Just yourself to mind, 
and your houses and lands. They can't get in the 
family-way, like wives, or turn round and smite you 
and break your heart, like childer. 'Tis a most 
blessed state to be complete in yourself, with nought 
to do but count your money. 

Elias. Who's so strong that he can stand alone ? 

Gay. You are. You're somebody now in the eyes 
of other people. 

Elias. And still the same man in my own. 

Philip. Get a fine wife then. There's nought like 
a loving woman to give you a better conceit of your- 
self. 

Gay. They don't always. Sometimes they'll tell 
you the bitter truth about your character, morning, 
noon and night — especially night. At such times 
they'll flay you alive with their tongues and you wake 
up raw as a rib o' beef in the morning. 

Philip. No doubt. 'Tis just a bit of luck whether 
a wife makes an angel or a devil of a man. 

Hester. Or he makes an angel or a de/il of her. 

Philip. But you'll find the right sort, Elias. 

Eltas. Nay, nay. I've got a lot of kind friends — 
that's enough for me. 

Hester. Kindness made alive you are yourself. 



act ii THE SHADOW 39 

Philip. But don't be too soft, Elias ; don't be too 
soft with the people. 

Gay. Charity's one of the greatest blessings of the 
rich. 'Tis in their reach every hour of the day. 

Elias. I've thought a lot upon it. The rich folk 
be a bit blind there in my opinion. They take the 
wrong-headed view and put money afore men. 'Tis 
the rights of man, not the rights of money, us have to 
consider. They can count up the figures in their 
cash books ; but they can't count up the number of 
the rich and subtract it from the number of the 
poor. 

Philip. Ah! That's a sum the poor do very 
clever for themselves nowadays. 

Gay. No doubt we be putting some sharp questions 
against the arithmetic of the rich. The meek was 
promised the earth and they begin to think 'tis time 
they had it. 

Elias. The rich don't know they're born, neighbours; 
but that's the first thing the poor find out. [Rising. 

Philip. Money's power, however ; and 'tis a poor 
creature don't glory in power. Haven't Mr. Gay here 
been generous and sporting and given me a bit in the 
business, and don't me and my wife go an inch taller 
for it ? Ban't the money only — 'tis the power. 

Gay. I do my little bit to help make the world go 
round, and I always shall. In fact I do to others as 
I hope and trust the Lord will do to me. 

Elias. And you'll get your goodness back with 
interest, be sure. 



40 THE SHADOW act ii 

Hester. You may have got it when you go home. 
Like enough there'll be a beautiful babby waiting for 
your arms. 

Gay. God grant I don't drop him, for 'twill be sure 
to give me a great spasm when I touch the little 
creature. And don't you kill John Lake's pig to- 
morrow morning, Phil, for it bides within fifty yards 
of our house, and if my Eliza be still living, she'd 
never stand the noise. 

Elias. I'll see you home, Willes Gay. \They pick 
up their hats and put on their coats. Philip and 
Hester help them to do so and shale hands with 
Elias.] 

Gay. Good night — good night — Please the Lord 
'tis the last time I shall see the moon as a childless 
man. [To Elias.] I'm as brave a human as any other 
human and a very steadfast-minded Christian in the 
affairs of my neighbours. I've got the faith that 
moves mountains — for other people ; but there 'tis — 
figures — they be such cold, dreadful monsters. And 

when you know that every year five thousand 

[Exeunt Gay and Elias Waycott. Philip 
shuts the door on them. 

Hester. Poor, dear chap. He ban't very T happy, 
I'm fearing. 

Philip. Elias ? He'll be all right. 'Tis only the 
strangeness. Lucky in life — unlucky in love. 

Hester. [Putting her arms round his neck.] Money 
be cold comfort against love, Phil. 

Philtp. Yes — for the likes of Elias. 



act ii THE SHADOW 41 

Hester. We'll be true friends to him if he'll let us. 

Philip. I'm wonder-struck that he can bear to bide 
within sight of you. 'Tis a shape of love I don't 
understand. I couldn't have done that if you'd 
chucked me. I'd have fled t'other side of the world 
if you'd said "no" to me, Hester. Or maybe gone 
out of the world altogether. But Elias— though his 
life haven't got no salt for him, yet he'd never have 
the manhood to take leave of it. He ban't built to 
feel very cruel deep about his life, I reckon. It only 
puzzles him. He'll wander on in his gentle, easy way, 
and do his duty and feel no more happy nor sad about 
it than the river. He'd have loved you very dear j 
but not so grand and fiery as I love you, Hester. 

Hester. You don't love me grander than I love 
you, Phil. I hang on you for every joy and delight. 
I'd give my life for you if need was. I wake every 
morning and wonder such a man lives — and all for 
me. Oh Phil — I'm selfish : I can't look outside our 
own hearts. 

Philip. How should you? Our all be there I 
reckon. Let the sad people go round the world ; 
here's world enough for me. [A knock at the door. 

Hester. [Leaving him.] 'Tis Mr. Gay with his 
news. [Opens the door.] No, 'tisn't. 

Enter Thomas Turtle. 

Philip. Why, postmaster! Who'd dream to see 
you at this time o' night ? 

Turtle. Nobody ; and yet don't think it happened 



42 THE SHADOW act ti 

by chance. Chance ain't allowed to play monkey 
tricks with a man like me, Philip BlancharcL I have 
just met Elias Waycott, and he sends a message to 
you. 

Piiiltp. He's left us but five minutes. 

Turtle. True. And yet what God can do in five 
minutes ! He sent me, because he couldn't come 
back himself. Perhaps he never will. 

1 1 kster. Good gracious ! Why not, Mr. Turtle ? 

Turtle. Ah, there lies the wonder! A dark and 
fearful thing has happened — perhaps the most 
fearful thing that I can call to mind for thirty years 
in this village. 

Hester. My goodness, postmaster, what be you 
saying ? 

Philip. If he's in trouble I'll 

[Preparing to go. 

Turtle. Stop where you are. He is in trouble, but 
none that his friends can save him from. He is 
beyond the reach of friend or enemy now. He is in 
the Hands of his Maker. The arm of the Law be on 
him. In a word, the man has just been took up by the 
police for the murder of his uncle six months ogo. 

Hester. Elias ! Elias kill a man ! 

Turtle. I've got the power of speech, thank God ; so 
if you'll listen to me you'll understand. First, I must 
tell you the body of old Waycott was found yesterday 
in Cann Woods. That rascal, Saul Coaker, the poacher, 
was the one that found it — ferreted it out somehow, 
though 'twas in a pit far deeper than a churchyard 



act ii THE SHADOW 43 

grave. Down to the bottom of an old mine hole ; hid 
under a ton of brush and stones, was Jacob Waycott. 
And in my far-seeing way, the first thing I thought 
when I heard it was how strange for Saul Coaker to 
take Elias's fifty pound reward with one hand and put 
Elias in prison with the other ! So God works. 

Hester. But surely, surely 

Turtle. Let me flow on — else you'll miss the tale. 
Of course Coaker was poaching ; but as I've pointed 
out before to-day, Providence often uses a bad man to 
do its dirty work. And the lesser crime be nothing 
against the greater. First, the rascal, looking after 
his traps a month ago, found old Waycott's far-famed 
black hat, the like of which no man ever saw afore or 
since. 'Twas deep hid in a thorn bush; and with 
that he began his secret search. Night after night 
he hunted, for he reckoned, with a good deal of 
sense for such a man, that where Jacob Waycott's 
hat was, his head wouldn't be far oft*. And in the 
Lord's good time the corpse was found stowed safe 
and deep, with his skull broke in. 

Hester. But why for Elias ? 

Turtle. It points to him. He and his old 
uncle were out, as we all know, and Jacob was 
heard to threaten Elias and sw 7 ear to alter his will 
the very day before he disappeared. And so Elias 
had everything to gain by cutting him short. And 
then he was the gamekeeper in those very woods, 
and knew every hole and corner, and had a right 
to be there. And he was there that identical day, 



44 THE SHADOW act ii 

and never denied it at the time. But I heard him 
vow to God afore the policeman just now that he 
was innocent of the crime, for I was passing at the 
moment and heard all. And he begged me to step 
in here, afore you went to bed, and break the harsh 
news. 

Hester. 'Tis madness ! Who on earth could dream 
murder against such as him ? 

Turtle. That's where the Law soars above us, Mrs. 
Blanchard, like a hawk above a sparrow. We may 
think he's innocent, and say we know him and know 
that he couldn't do any such desperate deed. But the 
Law don't know him, and don't want to know him. 
The Law's no respecter of persons. He'll be called to 
stand his fair trial before the face of the Lion and 
Unicorn, like everybody else. And we shall bulk 
large in the nation's eye, and be the corner-stone of 
the newspapers for a time. But don't deceive your- 
selves, 'twill only be for a time ; though while it lasts 
I hope every one of us will take it in a proper spirit, 
as I shall, 

Hester. He wanted us to know. 

Turtle. And I was there — sent by the Almighty 
to gather his message. I'd gone to the chemist's, to 
get a bottle of liniment for my daughter's rheumatism. 
Meek as Moses the man went. They'll lock him up 
at the station to-night, and take him afore the 
magistrate to-morrow. And then, all in good time, 
he'll be haled oft" to the assizes at Exeter. As like 
as not they'll want evidence of character, and I may 



act ii THE SHADOW 45 

be called to the witness-box myself. We must leave 
him to his Maker and his Judge ; but there's no just 
reason why we shouldn't pray for him, until he's proved 
guilty. We must all keep our heads. The coroner 
sits to-morrow, and the funeral will bring the people 
like flies to a cookshop. Good night; I must be 
moving here and there. A great deal will be expected 
from me and, God willing, I shall rise to it. 

[Hester opens the door for him and he goes 

out. Philip sits beside the table, ivhere he 

has sat since Mr. Turtle entered. 

Hester. What an awful, wicked thing ! Be the 

people mad ? To think that kindly creature— all 

goodness— such a man to Phil— why be you so 

silent ? You don't fear for him ? 

Philip. For hate he done it. No man ever works 
so hard for love as he will for hate. 
Hester. Elias! 

Philip. " Elias " ! No. Saul Coaker. He swore 
he'd be quits with the keeper, if he had to wait till 
they was both in hell for it. And he kept his wrath 
warm— eh? To nose old Jacob out! Why, the 
foxes could never have found him. Buried under a 
proper mountain of dirt he was. 
Hester. What do you mean ? 
Philip. One foot in the grave had Jacob Waycott, 
and he didn't care who he kicked with t'other. But 
he kicked once too often. 'Tis a good yarn for a 
winter night. Draw near the fire and drink a drop 
out of my glass. 



46 THE SHADOW act ii 

Hester, You knew about it ? 

Philip. Who better ? He fixed the meeting place 
himself. He wanted to hear all I knew about the old 
mine, because my mother's father had been captain of 
it fifty year back. He had ideas to set it going 
again, if he could find fools enough to float it. And 
when he axed me to tell him all I knew, I thought he 
was coming round and meant to be friendly. We 
met on the quiet and he heard all I could tell him. 
But then I came to my own affairs and he stung like 
an adder, and cursed my dead father and said I should 
have my teeth set on edge with his sour grapes. He 
goaded me to rage, Hester, and I lost myself and 
swung my stick and hit him down. Just one crack I 
gave him and no more. But it done the trick. A man 
that fells bullocks be bound to hit hard. 

Hester. You ! Phil— Phil ! 

[Puis her arms round him. 

Philip. I didn't care if I swung for him then. I 
left the woods and went home. But, come the dark, 
my mind changed. I thought on you and grew 
wild to live. I couldn't be sure the dog was really 
dead, so I rayed myself and rose and went to see. A 
moony night and I had all the place to myself. If I'd 
met Elias then ! But I didn't. And there was 
Jacob, dead as a hammer, and his old pony standing 
beside him, waiting for him to get up. So I made a 
clean job, as you've heard. I blindfolded the pony 
and led it over Cann Quarry Cliff ; and then I went 
down and took the bandage off its eyes. 'Tis strange 



act ii THE SHADOW 47 

I never thought on the old devil's hat. And now a 

bit of rotten felt be going to Not a shadow 

haunted me, Hester, and never has. I went back 
home along and slept as sound as a saint. For I'd 
done a rare useful thing, you see, and hoped to be 
richly rewarded for it. I only thought how much 
sweeter the world would be without that damned 
rogue in it. 'Twas no more to me than sticking a 
pig. My business be killing things, ban' t it? And 
next morning my only thought was you, and my only 
wonder I hadn't seen that way out afore. Not in 
cold blood could I have killed the man— I don't say 
that ; but I was properly thankful it had come to me 
in hot, A savage tale— eh ? Cuddle close to me ; 
you'm shivering like a leaf. 

Hester. Oh, my God ! What's life done to us? 



CURTAIN 



ACT III 

Scene I : The same as in Act II. The blinds of the 
window are up. The fire is out. Hester, anxious 
and worn, sits intently reading a newspaper. Mrs. 
Dunnybrig enters. She has a shawl over her 
head. 

Hester. You be come ? 

Sarah. I couldn't bide no longer. What is it ? 

Hester. The verdict ain't out, mother. 

Sarah. Is Phil back ? 

Hester. He'll be home first thing this morning. 

Sarah. Did they let him see Elias ? 

Hester. Us shall know all when he comes back 

all but the verdict and sentence. They won't be out 
till noon. 

Sarah. How do it read in cold print ? 

Hester. The judge is dreadfully against him. 
Couldn't he look into the man's eyes and see truth 
in 'em ? 

Sarah. 'Tis said that justice be blind. It have got 
ears, but no eyes. 

Hester. And no heart, seemingly. 

Sarah. There's one blessing, however. He wasn't 
49 D 



50 THE SHADOW act in 

called to wait long. They took him just afore the 
Assizes. But it have been long enough to turn his 
hair grey, I'll warrant — such a nervous man as him. 
'Tis so easy to say " not guilty " and so hard to prove 
it. But that cuts both ways. They can't prove he 
clone it, any more than he can prove he didn't. 

[A knock. Enter Willes Gay in his white 
butcher's jacket and apron, with a steel at 
his girdle. 

Gay. Morning, ladies — be Phil home ? 

Hester. I've had a postcard with a picture of 
Exeter gaol upon it. He'll be back early. I expect 
him any minute. 

Gay. 'Twill be a great blessing to business when 
we can all settle down again, and Elias be set free, and 
my son vaccinated. There's something always hanging 
over human creatures. We've never got a clean sky 
above us. No doubt we'd be the first to grumble at 
the sun if we had. The verdict will be out afore 
dinner and the sentence atop of it. We shall hear the 
best or worst afore the shadow's off the east side of 
the church tower. 

Sarah. 'Twas very good of you to let Phil go. 

Gay. The doomed man wanted to see him, and 
who be I to stand in the way of such a summons ? 
" Doomed " I call him, but 'tis too strong a word. We 
be leaving out the jury. Yet mercy's a thing far 
stronger in one heart than in eleven. What one 
man would shrink from, eleven men will stand to with- 
out a pang. 



act in THE SHADOW 5 1 

Hester. The judge didn't shrink. He stings like a 
whip. He don't believe that Elias is innocent. 

Gay. Did Phil see him ? 

Hester. Yes, along with the lawyer. 'Twas 
allowed afore the trial. 

Sarah. Please God he put heart into him. 

Hester. Like the Trump on the Last Day it is to 
read the judge. 

Gay. Yet I find myself full of hope, and the darker 
the people feel the more I tell them that all is going 
to be right. He's an innocent man, and I don't care 
who hears me say so. 

Sarah. If only you'd been on the jury ! 

Gay. I can't say as to that. A jury breeds its own 
bad spirit. You start out as bold as brass and ready to 
withstand the pack of 'em, and you're all on the side 
of the prisoner and mad against society for banding 
against a poor, solitary wretch as can't defend him- 
self, and so on; and then, little by little, you feel 
yourself ceasing to be yourself, and you get dull and 
savage and baffled among such a lot of ins and outs, 
till at last you're sick of human nature and not a 
man no more, but just a wheel, or a handle, or a bit 
of machinery running with the rest. I know, because 
I've been called to it. 

[Hester goes to window and looks out. 

Sarah. How's the babby this morning ? 
Gay. The doctor says 'tis better; but I tell my 
wife not to hope. 



52 THE SHADOW act hi 

Sarah. What nonsense ! 'Tis tempting Provid- 
ence. 

Gay. Sometimes I wonder how Providence will 
have the face to meet me when the day comes — to 
say it civilly. My life be all obstacles, and though I 
plough through 'em and keep a smiling face, the 
strain be fearful. 

Sarah. Your missis have made a good recovery — 
that's something. 

Gay. So they say ; but I don't know. 'Tis the way 
to put off" husbands with words. For my part I see a 
change in her. 

Sarah. Never ! 

Gay. I do. 'Tis idle to deny that she gives her 
first thought to the child. 

Sarah. You don't grudge the babby that ? 

Gay. 'Tis the thin edge of the wedge. He's a 
masterful nipper with a will of iron, and he'll come 
to be everything to her, if he's spared. Then I shall 
be so good as a widower. She undervalues my part 
in him and what I went through. You'd think, to 
hear her, that she'd done it single-handed, and all my 
credit and fame in the matter goes for nought. When 
I remind her of that terrible evening, she's right 
down contemptuous of my share. And the child as 
like me as two peas and all ! [To Hester.] Be you 
coming to her this morning? She's wishful to see 
you. 

Hester. After Phil gets back. 

Gay. You'll find him changed, remember. You 



act m THE SHADOW 53 

can't hear justice done in a court of law without 
changing. 'Tis a damping thing at best, and the old 
Adam in a man always shivers afore it. For 'tis 
whispered to us that it may be our turn next. Justice 
be the most unexpected thing in the world — full of 
surprises and a great shock to human nature. 'Tis 
like the bullock's hoof that goes into a lark's nest, cr 
the cartwheel that runs over the mole in the dark. 
You'd be sorry for the bird and beast, but who's to 
blame ? Nobody. Justice be built on justice. 'Tis 
only the Almighty can break His own laws — not us 
worms. [Hester lights the fire. 

Sarah. He's in the hands of God and so all's said. 
Gay. Not all. God helps those who help them- 
selves, and Elias haven't fought a very hard fight in 
my opinion. 

Sarah. What more could he do than say he wasn't 
guilty ? 

Gay. They all say that. The Law must have some- 
thing to work on. The majesty of the Law falls to 
the ground if a prisoner pleads " guilty." 'Tis like a 
busy man with his tools and cleverness coming to his 
work betimes and finding it done for him. The Law's 
very large-minded, remember. With all its faults, 
'tis a very large-minded contrivance and always gives 
us the benefit of the doubt. The judge rubbed that 
into the jury. 

Hester. There was no doubt in his mind and he 
showed it. 

Gay. Don't take the job to heart, I be positive 



54 THE SHADOW act hi 

certain the man's going to get off. I wish I was so 
sure of my bad debts as I am about Elias. Yes, we'll 
all be standing him free drinks to-morrow. So cheer 
up and come over to my wife so soon as you can. 

[Exit Willes Gay. 
Sarah. Don't you fret no more, else people will 
wonder why you be taking it so hardly. The butcher's 
right. He'll be free to come back to his friends before 
long. Perhaps he is a'ready. We must all try to 
make it up to him. 

Hester. " Make it up to him ! " 

Sarah. Help him to forget what it feels like to be 

on your trial for murdering a man. 'Tis surely a 

dreadful thing if one's witty enough to picture it. No 

doubt such a clever creature as you can see with his 

eyes ; and that's why you be so terrible down. But 

you must hide your feelings, else your husband won't 

like it. Phil will come home afore long, then you'll 

be better. And you mustn't take on, whatever 

happens ! 'tis bad for you. [Exit Sarah Dunnybrig. 

[Hester tends the fire and sits crouched over it. 

Then she reads the pap>er again. 

Enter Sarah Dunnybrig. 

Sarah. Here's Phil coming down the road from the 

station. [Exit Sarah Dunnybrig. 

[Hester hurries to the door, then she hastens 

out. In a feio moments she 7-eturns with 

Philip. He is in his best clothes and 

carries a carpet bag. 



act in THE SHADOW 55 

Hester. Thank God, you're back ! 'Tis a hundred 
years since you went. And I've had to hide my 

heart and put a bold face on life and — and 

Philip. [Caressing her]. There — there! Steady! 
" A bold face on life " is a very good word. Be you 
well ? You look sadly. 

Hester. I'm all right now you're back. 'Tis only 
the nights was so dreadful. I've cried out for daylight 
to come and been frightened to sleep for dreaming. 

Philip. This won't do. You're finger-cold and 
white as curds. 

Hester. How is it to be ? 

Philip. Not a word till I've got you warm again — 
warm and happy, both. 
Hester. I shall be all right now you're home. 
Philip. So you will then. That's the way — smile 
now — just a little one. Ha, ha, that's my girl ! 
Fetch a drop of liquor — spirits — 'twill do you good so 
well as me. Then I'll tell what's to tell. 

Hester. Don't you go away, I can't let you out 
of my sight no more. [Exit Hester. 

[lV7mi she has left the room Philip Blanch ard's 
forced animation dies. His face assumes 
a deeply troubled look. He takes off his 
hat and coat and warms his hands at the 
fire. He is staring before him lost in 
thought, when his ivife returns ivith a bottle 
and a tumbler, and a jug of water on 
a tray. He pours out spirits, adds 
vmter and makes her drink. Then he 



56 THE SHADOW act hi 

jiours more spirits to what she leaves and 
drinks himself. 

Hester. Tell me truth — everything. 

Philip. I be going to do it. Come here on my lap 
— so close as you can get. 

Hester. 'Tis heaven to see you again. I couldn't 
have bided a day longer without 'e. I was growing 
old. 

[She sits on his lap and puts her arms round his 
neck. 

Philip. We ban't the sort to grow old, I reckon. 
We've had a good time — a brave time. 

Hester. And be going to for years and years. 

Philip. You can't keep at high-water-mark for 
ever. The tide will turn. Maybe the happiest be 
them that don't turn with it and end on the flood. 

Hester. Tell it out— Elias ? 

Philip. What a world — eh ? An old felt hat from 
a bramble bush — and all the devils in hell couldn't 
have thought on a better plan. Coaker found it by 
chance and put two and two together, fired by his 
long hate of Elias. And he got to the old boy's bones 
after six weeks' searching. I lay Jacob Waycott be 
laughing in hell if he knows about it, for the best 
laugh be the last. 

Hester. Don't talk that way or you'll drive me 
mad. 

Philip. I'll begin at the beginning. And the 
beginning was afore I went to see Elias. 'Twas in 
my mind when I left you three days agone — a great 



act in THE SHADOW 57 

amazement about you, Hester. To think that you — 
for love — could take what I'd done so light, and never 

turn against me, and never 

Hester. [Impatiently.] That's child's talk. We be 
far past that. Ban't you and me one — body and 
soul ? Your work's my work. I'm you — so much as 
your right arm be you. 

Philip. Ah ! You wonder ! and well I know it. 
But I wish you wasn't screwed so tight into my life 

_f or if 

Hester. We be one creature, I tell you — close, 
close as the handle to the hatchet and the rind to the 
apple. 

Philip. A bitter rind to your sweet fruit. But I 
love to hear you say so. There — light down off my 
lap and let me move about and tell all. 

[Kisses he?' and rises. She sits on the awn of 
the chair and keeps her eyes steadily on his 
face as he vjalks backwards and forwards. 
Philip. The lawyer's a good chap. When he 
understood that I was a great friend of Elias and 
must see him, he planned it, and got the warders out 
o' ear- shot, and I had very near ten minutes with him. 
They prison warders be kindly men. Elias have won 
'em over, so they'd do anything for him they could. 
Hester. For sure. 

Philip. I soon had it out and told him he was safe 
and lifted the load from his mind. 'Twas like coming 
back to life by a short cut for him, and you'd have 
thought I should hear him heave a pretty good sigh 



58 THE SHADOW act hi 

of relief, or else swear an oath of thankfulness. But 
he only stared at me all in a miz-maze of wonder. I 
didn't waste no words after I told him 'twas I killed 
the old man. I said, " Life's terrible good to me and 
Hester, Elias, and knowing what a game hero you be, 
I've come to ax you to do us a mighty service, if you 
feel you can rise to it." " Be sure I will, if 'tis in my 
power," he said, " for Hester's sake if not for yours." 
He see'd, with his lightning-quick mind, that this was 
worse for you than me. And then I put it to him if 
he would stand the trial afore the nation. " Tis any 
odds you'll be proved not guilty," I said to the man, 
" and then no harm be done, and we go on as before, 
and I'll pay you for your goodness after, if it takes 
me my lifetime, for 'twould mean salvation to me and 
my wife. But if it goes wrong, then you needn't 
turn a hair, for the very next minute, the truth will 
be out and you'll be cleared afore the world." 

Hester. He understood ? 

Philip. He understood and he rose to it. He rose to 
trusting me. We reckoned him weak and easy. But 
think — think of the pluck o' trusting me ! Took my 
word after he knowed all the truth. There's bravery ! 
Some might say 'twas foolhardy. 

Hester. Not Elias. He knows you. You put him 
at peace then ? 

Philip. I did, and he wanted for me to be at peace 
and — and you also. His first thought was you, 
Hester. " Tell her to fear nothing," he said. "Afore 
all things don't let her fret." He was very hopeful 



act in THE SHADOW 59 

that it would be all right. The torture of being 
locked up hadn't served him as it would have served 
me. Yet, when the trial happened a bit later, and I 
saw him again, he'd altered somehow and you could 
feel the thing had bitten into him. He knew himself 
safe, but there 'twas — you can't come through such a 
fire without getting scorched a bib. I'd die a thousand 
deaths rather than stand in a dock. 
Hester. Then the trial ? 

Philip. It began all right. A very clever chap, 
with a rare gift of the gab, stood for Elias and dwelt 
on his good character and all that. He bluffed and 
6aid 'twas a common scandal that Elias should have 
been arrested at all ; and I believe, if us could have 
stopped there, the jury would have said "not guilty" 
and turned him free without leaving the box. But 
the Law have a dreadful way of grinding on and on, 
like a machine, till it fogs your understanding and 
leaves a common man with all the milk of human 
kindness dried up in him. The friendly feeling for 
Elias faded away presently. 
Hester. Don't say that. 

Philip. It died out. The judge was against him. 
A cold man with a hatchet face, like a Red Indian, 
He didn't understand nothing about Elias and his fine 
nature, and he didn't care nothing neither. He just 
stood for the Law and hadn't any more heart in him 
than a thunderbolt. I was very near dancing with 
wrath when he was a summing up — all so deadly true 
outside and so deadly false inside. I "could have 



60 THE SHADOW act hi 

yelled at him and told him he was a liar. Yet 
all the time you felt the jury was bound to believe 
that frosty voice, 'Twas like a talking statue. Only 
the light in his eyes showed he was alive. [He points 
to the newspaper.] Them as read that speech this 
morning and know not Elias — they'll say, " He's a 
doomed man — and deserves it." 

Hester. Philip, Philip — for God's sake don't. I'm 
terrible feared. 

Philip. Circumstantial evidence — 'tis called. And 
the funny thing was Elias. Yes — if you'd looked at 
him, you'd have sworn 'twas all real to him and that 
he thought his life hung in the balance. If he'd 
been guilty, he couldn't have listened to the judge's 
words more dreadful keen. Alert and alive to every 
syllable. Licking his dry lips wet, again and again, 
and staring as if them dark eyes of his would bolt out 
of his head ! In another man, that knew what he 
knew, you'd have said 'twas play acting ; but not in 
him. He was terrified, if ever man was terrified. A 
great mystery that. 

Hester. No mystery. Ob, can't you see ? Can't 
you feel it? 'Twas you being tried, not him ; 'twas 
your life hanging on a hair, not his ; 'twas you to go 
free or — or — He knew. Put your arms round me 
for God's love. Don't tramp no more. How be we 
going to live till 'tis known. 

Philip. [Standing still.] Lord, you clever woman ! 
I never thought of that. [Goes to her.] Why, of course 
— a tender chap like him — he was feeling it for me, 



act in THE SHADOW 61 

and feeling it so much as me — more — more than me ! 
Don't fret your soul to fiddlestrings afore you're 
called to. Phew — 'tis a beastly thing to be in the 
hands of your fellow-men — like he is. I won't go 
through that. If it's got to be, I 

Hester. Keep off it ! Don't whisper it ! 

Philip. Not I. I ban't going to take that dose, 
my pretty bird. There's plenty of sweeter physic 
than that. 

Hester. You mean ? 

Philip. I mean nought — not yet. A thousand 
things may fall out. But if that falls out, then 'tis for 
you and me to 

Hester. I won't think no more — I can't think no 
more. I'm worn out — my eyes be shutting. I only 
want to sleep for ever in your arms, Phil. 

Philip. So you shall, then. And hope — hope 
about it. We be born to hope, you and me. This be 
only a dream, and we'll waken presently. I cling to 
life with all my seven senses — 'tis such a damned fine 
thing. We must live <: double tides," as the sailors 
watch — every minute — every second ! 

Hester. I've been on my knees praying to God all 
night for you, Phil. 

Philip. That's to the good, for if a watchful God 
there be, then 'tis certain He wanted that hard old 
villain took off. And He chose me to do it, and put 
the fire in me to smite him down. I was driven to 
do it, weren't I ? And be I going to yelp out that 
I've done wrong, because I've obeyed my Maker and 



62 THE SHADOW act hi 

lifted my whip and smote a bad man, when the Lord 
woke a great rage in my heart ? Ban't the Bible full 
of such things ? I'd have been a coward to stand his 
scorpion tongue more ; and I'd have been a fool to 
blab after. I'll go down to the shop now. 

Hester, No, no, I can't let you out of my sight no 
more to-day. I've got a dreadful fear 

Philip. That's not my Hester. You mustn't feel 
like that. You must feel same as I do and rise above 
little things. This be a big thing, and if it goes wrong, 
we've got to tackle it big. Us have got to say, we've had 
a good time and we thought there was more coming ; 
but there wasn't. We've had it all. And 'twas full 
measure. We've loved more and took more joy of 
each other in six months than some poor creatures 
could have squeezed out of a lifetime. [She puts her 
hands on his shoulders.] Them precious hands ! They'd 
keep it away if they could ; but the world's up in arms 
now. 'Tis in a nutshell. If Elias be let free, we're 
all right ; if he's not, we're all wrong, and there's an 
end of it. 

Hester. Don't say it. There's a thousand ways — 
I've thought of a thousand ways. 

Philip. Not for me, my life — only one way for the 
likes of me. [A knock.] There's postmaster. I called 
and he promised to come along the minute 'twas 
flashed from London. 

[Hester sinks into chair by the fireplace. 
Philip goes to the door. 

Philip. [At door.] Buck up — tighten your chin. 



act in THE SHADOW 63 

Show your pluck — you'll never get a better chance 
to! [He opens the door.] Come in, Mr. Turtle, and 
thank you for coming. 

Enter Thomas Turtle. 

Turtle. A regular procession of one, you might 
call it. The folk knew I'd got the news, and when I 
set forth, they streamed after me, like sheep after the 
shepherd. 

Philip. Out with it, man ! 

Turtle. The Law's made good in the eyes of the 
people. 

Philip. And what have it come to ? 

Turtle. We thought he hadn't done it, being that 
mild-mannered and civil-spoken ; but such things lie 
only skin deep, and the eagle eye of the Law have seen 
through and through him. 

Philip, Guilty ? 

Turtle. Guilty, and the full, fearful penalty to pay. 

Philip. Innocent as light ! 

Turtle. You mustn't say that— 'tis a very dangerous 
thing to question the Law, Blanchard, and I warn you 
against it. A cowardly, cruel murder — to slay an 
ancient man, weak in the hams and seventy- five 
years old. And to hide him, so that he shouldn't 
have Christian burial — 'twas an outrage against God 
and man both. 

Philip. He's to swing for it ? 

Turtle. Death's the dreadful word— to be hung by 
the neck in Exeter gaol. Struck down with his 



64 THE SHADOW act in 

stolen food in his mouth and his stolen money in his 
pocket. And he thought he'd hoodwinked his 
Maker, no doubt, and laughed in his sleeve — poor 
fool — to think the creature cleverer than his Creator. 
'Tis only the sinner finds God a puzzle, you must 
know. To me, for instance, His way be clear enough ; 
and His way have been mine ever since I gave a blind 
man my first penny. And so right's done and we 
faithful ones know where to give the praise. 

[Exit Thomas Turtle. 
Philip. We're up against it, Hester. 

[A curtain falls for a few moments to rise 
again on the second scene. 



Scene II : Still the parlour of the Blanchards' cottage ; 
the time is the hour before dawn. A candle burns 
low on the table and by the light of it PniLiP 
Blaxchard sits writing laboriously. His coat and 
waistcoat are off ; his collar is on the table. The 
right sleeve of his flannel shirt is turned up to the 
elboic, showing his great fore-arm. Many sheets 
of paper are scattered upon the table. Sleeping 
uneasily on the settle, by a loiv fire, lies Hester 
Blanchard. 

Philip scratches his head, sorts the papers, then 
squares his elbows and writes. He stops, reflects 
and icrites again. Hester moves and murmurs 
in her sleep. He listens to her. 



act in THE SHADOW 65 

Hester. Oh, Phil — you darling— always thiuking 
of your girl ! 'Tis much too fine for me. [Laughs.] I 
lay it cosfc a fortune ! 

[Philip writes a few words. Hester wakens 

and sits up. Her hair is down and the 

upper buttons of her bodice are unfastened. 

Philip. Sleep a bit longer. It ban't morning yet. 

Hester. Have I been asleep ? 

Philip. Like a top and little wonder. I've done 
my job. [He gathers the papers together^ 
Hester. To think I could sleep ! 
Philip. You was played out. See what a lot I've 
wrote. I'm a cat-handed, clumsy creature with a pen. 
A knife's my tool. 

Hester. This be waking to die. 
Philip. I wish to God I'd never told you. 
Hester. Don't say that. Do 'e think I was only 
built to cuddle ? We've been one in good and we'll 
be one in — this. 

Philip. That's what I'd help if I could. But we 
love too close. 

Hester. Don't you feel different, now that you' ve 
cleared Elias afore all men ? [Pointing to the jJapers.) 
Oan't you see that to do this isn't to give yourself 
up ? 

Philip. No, by God — never. 

Hester. Then there's hope. I'll talk till Judg- 
ment Day if I can make you list to reason. This goes 

to lawyer [pointing to papers] and you disappear 

where they'll never find yon. 



66 THE SHADOW act hi 

Philip. That's what I mean. 

Hester. 'Tis not what you mean. You mean to 
end it. 

Philip. We needn't go back over that no more. 

Hester. To think I fell asleep ! But I'm fresh 
now and full of fight again. Why end what's a good 
and blessed thing? Us talked about your life last 
night. Now we'll talk about mine. 

Philip. Yours? 

Hester. As sure as God's in heaven. D'you think 
I'll live if you die ? Can a body live with the heart 
taken out? But leave that. Be your own clever 
self, Phil. Why should you go out of it ? 

Philip. Where else can I go? 

Hester. The world's a big place, but there's time to 
get half across it. 'Tis given out you be called away 
on business. I'll invent a tale for master. Then, 
when you're safe, I give the writing to the lawyer. 
They can't hurt me. No wife's called to tell against 
her husband. And presently I steal off after you — 
and 

Philip. Know me better. To live like a hunted 
creature all my days ! To feel there's hue and cry ; 
to know that every strange man I meet may come to 

take me to Death's nought, but the fear of death 

be a thing that gets into the blood and poisons a man 
till his life's a living death. Do you want to watch 
me rotting under your eyes ? 

Hester, You're not built to fear. 

Philip, I know fear now ; but not the fear of death. 



act in THE SHADOW 67 

'Tis what goes before — not what comes after. I've 
killed too many things to fear killing myself. But I won't 
be hunted to death. I'll go there at my own gait and 
by my own road. To doubt every eye that's fixed on 
me ; to fear every door that opens ; to dread every 
strange voice that axes for Philip Blanchard. No — 
no. You'd not drive me to that. I've lived a full 
life, thanks to you, and I'm not going to have it end 
in a mess. We've walked on the high road and we 
won't slink behind hedges. I've despised the people 
that live like sheep — the bleating herd of 'em — and 
be I to go at the mercy of the herd ? They've got 
none. There's no more hard-hearted creature on 
earth than the herd when 'tis up in arms. There'll 
be judge and jury for me, too, like there was for 
Elias ; and not one of the lot would be brave enough 
to pull the rope they'll give me — not one would rise to 
kill a man single-handed. But let 'em herd and 
they'll do it quick enough. 

Hester. Be patient. Don't get out of hand with 
yourself. 

Philip. Help me then ; don't hinder me. Show 
what a big, strong woman you be. I'm hungering to 
end it — quick — quick. I never was a patient man in 
body or soul. When a thing's to do ; I fret till it's 
done. 

[The candle goes out. Light has already begun 
to wax behind the blind. Philip walks to 
the window, draws up the blind and throws 
open the casement. A dim, clear dawn is 



68 THE SHADOW act hi 

revealed, and there is the sound of a lark 
shrilling aloft. 

Philip. The larks be in the sky. 'Tis a brave 
morning. 

Hester. You don't fear death, but a shadow. A 
shadow you fear. Who'll look for you ? Who'll care ? 

Philip. The Law will care. What's nobody's 
business be everybody's business when a man kills a 
nan. The framework of the earth shakes nowadays 
when a man kills a man, because life be growed so 
beastly precious in these cowardly times. The herd 
shivers if one of 'em drops, and turns frightened eyes 
to seek the tiger, and calls upon the unsleeping, un- 
resting Law. 

Hester. Then come back to me and forget yourself 
for a bit. Be I nothing ? Don't I count ? 

Philip. 'Tis only you that do count. I've thought 
this out — to the dregs. I've left no stone unturned. 
Suppose I ran — there's a shadow of danger for Elins 
still. 

Hester. Not when they've read what you've 
wrote. 

Philip. Why should they believe me ? They know 
I'm his friend. The Law might say, " This be a trick. 
This man have took the blame and fled — for love of 
the sinner." And Elias would gain nought. 

Hester. That holds the same if you was to give 
yourself up. 

Philip. True enough ; but not if I do what I'm 
going to do. If 1 die, they won't hang Elias. 



act in THE SHADOW 69 

Hester. D'you want to die ? Me — me — think of 
ine ! Be that man or any man more than me ? Ban't 
I first ? Ban't your unborn child first ? Do 'e mean 
us to go down to the grave too. 

Philip. Hush — that ain't my fighting Hester. 

Hester. Oh life — our life ! You can't end it — you 
can't cut it off? 

Philip. Bear up, and don't make it look bigger 
than it is. No physic's so nasty you don't forget the 
taste between doses. You must live, because in 
honour you can't die ; but I must die because in 
honour I can't live. 

Hester. You put your honour afore me ? 

Philip. I put your own honour and your child's 
honour afore you. Cheer up — here's mother coming 
along. 

Hester. Be there no other way ? 

Philip. Christ knows that I'd take it if there was. 
There's no other. There ! That's the look I love to 
see in your eyes ! That's my girl ! 

Enter Sarah Dunnybrig. 

PniLiP. Morning, mother. You'm travelling abroad 
early this morning. 

Sarah. Morning, my dears. Not a wink did I 
sleep. And I know you be the same. 

Philip. Bide and have breakfast along with 
Hester. 

Sarah. 'Twas my thought. I don't feel as if I 
could open the shop to-day. 



70 THE SHADOW act hi 

Philip. [Laughing,] Shops can't shut because we 
be going to hang the wrong man. That minds me ; 
I've got to kill a sheep before breakfast. [Puts on his 
coat.] I'll be back presently. 

Hester. [Aside to Piiilip.] You don't mean — 
swear afore God this ban't the end. Swear you'll 
come back alive to me. There's got to be " Good- 
bye." [Philip hesitates. 

Hester. Swear it, or I'll die too — that instant 
moment. 

Philip. I thought may be 

Hester. Swear it. 

Philip. I will then. You're right. I swear to 
you I'll come back to say " Good-bye." You and me 
be strong things. A clean cut is soonest healed. 
We'll part clean, not ragged. [Exit Philip. 

Sarah. I ain't slept a wink for thinking on this 
dreadful thing. I heard voices last night. I could 
have sworn Elias was talking down under in the shop. 

Hester. 'Tis a very fearful come-along-of-it. 

Sarah. I'll never trust a human again. Not man 
nor woman will I trust. If that man wasn't good, 
then there's no goodness in anybody. The people be 
running about like a nest of ants. And to think he 
wanted to marry you and offered to do it ! And I 
was that fretful because you wouldn't take him, and 
never saw the watching Lord in it ! To wed a man 
with red hands ! 

Hester. Be you like the rest ? Don't you know him ? 

Sarah. No, I did not. None did. He hid his 



act in THE SHADOW 71 

proper self as only such dark and secret men can hide 
themselves. He was a mask to us and behind it the 
real, terrible creature moved and struck — like 
lightning from the cloud. 

Hester Fool's talk, mother. He never did it. 

Sarah. Who did then ? But thank God 'tis not 
in our hands. You mustn't think of him no more. 
He's had justice, and 'tis all the best or worst have a 
right to ask for. "lis all that men can give to saint 
or sinner. 

Hester. And ban't mercy in man's reach too ? 

Sarah. Not afore spilled blood. We must do as 
God bade us, and take life for life as long as the 
Bible lasts. Life be the most sacred thing as God 
ever made, and He's terrible jealous of it. He gives 
and He takes away ; but He won't suffer none else to 
meddle with it. Life and death be God's work. 

Hester. Oh mother, mother, if you but knew ! 

But you — you with your Bible thoughts Go, now. 

Don't you bide to breakfast. Us would rather be all 
alone this morning. Tis hitting us cruel hard. 

Sarah. And well I know it. You sit still and let 
me get the food and comfort you. You be cold and 
weary-eyed. Your face be like an old woman's in 
the morning light. But don't let that vex Philip. 
Tell him 'tis always the way when a little one be 
drawing on us. 

Hester. Yes, yes. He knows. He thinks nought of it. 

Sarah. And don't let him be frighted if he sees a 
grey hair or two. My family always went grey terrible 



72 THE SHADOW act in 

early. I was grey afore you was born. 'Tis only a harm- 
less trick of nature. But he mustn't fret about it. 

Hester. Not he — he never troubles for things like 
that. 

Sarah. A proper fine man, and I love him very 
well, for he understands me something wonderful. 

Hester. Yes, yes — so fond of you, as if you was his 
own mother. 

Sarah. There's such a lot to thank God for, and 
not a cloud without a silver lining. I was thinking 
Inst night what a lucky thing it is that Elias have got 
no father and mother to break their hearts and go 
mad for him. We thought when he was left an 
orphan, that it was a hard case; but little we knew 
what they were took from. 

Hester. For God's sake be gone, mother dear ; I 
want to be alone. 

Sarah. You're wrong. 'Tis a moment when you 
should have cheerful company. Till all be over and 
time rolling on again, you did ought to keep with 
friends, Hester. There may be more coming out 
presently. Elias will very like confess now. They 
often do when hope's dead, and the chaplain labouring 
day and night at 'em. 

[Exit Sarah Dunnybrig. 
[Hester collects Philip's papers and puts them 
in a stamped envelope which lies on the 
table beside them. She moves restlessly 
about the room, then hears Philip's voice 
answering Willes Gay. She looks out of 



act in THE SHADOW 73 

the window and leaves the room as Philip 
and Gay enter it. 

Gay. She must come and see my wife, well or ill. 
I won't hear M no." A proper, brave creature is 
Hester 

Philip. Brave enough, but a bit under the weather 
for the minute. 

Gay. Don't say that. You people ban't born to 
trouble. You deserve to be happy, and you are 
happy. 'Tis the very rare case of folk getting what 
they deserve. My Eliza finds the world a terribly 
difficult place since she became a wife and mother. 
And not the first. In a word, the baby's got a temper. 
He's going to be one of the fierce sort, I'm afraid. 
'Tis a fatal thing nowadays to be born into the world 
if you're fierce, Philip. 

Philip. So it is, then — fatal ! No room for the 
fierce now. The race be all to the sheep, not the wolf. 

Gay. Quite right too. Sheep be useful ; wolves 
ban't. You've got to be useful to your fellow-man, 
else he won't be useful to you. 

Philip. You may be useful to him and he's too big 
a fool to see it. The strong get no thanks— slander 
and envy be their portion. The world hates 'em. 

Gay. The thing is to keep in with all men and take 
good care not to let your head rise above the level 
of the rest. 

Philip. Aye, chew grass and bleat like the others, 
and they'll let you bide. But if you growl a bit, 
they'll soon band together against you. 



74 THE SHADOW act jit 

Gay. Nobody ever heard me growl — nor my Eliza 
either. Live and let live be our' motto, and yet — our 
son be born fierce ! 'Tis as if the hedge-sparrow's egg 
had hatched out a hawk. He'll take his mother's breast 
more like a young tiger sucking than a baptized 
Christian child ; and if she keeps him waiting — my 
stars ! we hear about it. 

Philip. The world will tame him, if you can't. 

Gap. The world's full of puzzles, Blanchard, and so 
like as not, though you and your Hester be the brave, 
fearless sort, to look the sun in the eyes without 
blinking, your child will be meek and gentle and full 
of "race. 

o 

[Philip is moved. He holds his hand over his 
eyes a moment. 
Philip. Please God, 'twill be a good little man- 
child — built for his mother's peace and happiness. 

[Enter Hester zoith a tray, on which are a 
tea-pot and ])lates, a loaf, and a piece of 
honey. Philip ])uts kettle on the fire. 
Philip. There's talk of a petition already, they 
say. 

Gay. I'll sign it for one, and so will my wife. I 
believe he did it in a savage moment ; but I don't 
hold with hanging — 'tis too revengeful and calls for a 
man-butcher. To think of a person with an immortal 
soul, and made in the image of God, getting his living 
by stringing up his fellow creatures ! It oughtn't to 
be allowed. 

Philip. Baa, baa! That's the "way the sheep 



act in THE SHADOW 75 

people talk. Then why do they send men to the 
gallows ? 

Hester. At best, if he was spared, they'd give him 
penal servitude for life, 

Gay. That's only twenty years. 

Philip. Twenty years! Twenty hells! Who 
wants to rot afore he's dead? Who'd take life at 
that cost when he could be free — free as death ? 

Gay. Ah, my son, life be life to the worst of us. 

Philip. I know there's many would creep through 
any dirt just to live. But not him. He ban't so 
sweet on living that he'd want to suffer it in a 
convict's jacket. 

Gay. You'm a rash chap, Philip, and I'm feared of 
my life your opinions will spoil your happiness some 
day. Well, Mrs. Blanchard, you'll guess why I'm 
here, Eliza's down-daunted this morning. She 
dreamed of a rope last night, and our hard-hearted 
child be on her nerves worse than usual. So may I 
say you'll step over ? 

Philip. She'll try to do so soon as she can. But 
Elias — a very great friend 

Gay. There's nought soothes the woful mind like 
helping other people. I'll say you be coming to 
forget your trouble in ours, [Exit Willes Gay. 

Hester, I can't live out of sight of you. My heart 
stops out of sight of you. 

Philip. We're past all that. We're brave; we 
can look the sun in the face, as Gay said just now. 
The worst be over because we know the worst. I'm 



76 THE SHADOW act hi 

just going up the goyle two mile oil' — the old 
rouncly-poundy at Moor-edge, our first walk when 
we was tokened. I'm all right and cheerful you 
see. 

Hester. I can't fight no more for 'e. 

Philip. Life's worse than death, sometimes. I 
know that your part's a mighty deal harder than 
mine. You're the brave one ; you're the wonder. 
Perhaps I'd have said, " Come with me and Bee what 

'tis like " but for No, no. Us can't both be 

murderers. 'T would shake heaven up too much — 
eh, Hester ? 

Hester. This is the end then ? 

PniLir. No — the beginning, if what you believe 
holds true, 

Hester. What be you going to do ? 

PniLir. Nought to name — just slip out of it easy 
and quick — I've got to go ; but my little one have got 
to come. We've had a proper time — a grand time — 
and we didn't leave off in the midst, but at the end. 
'Tis finished, full and over-flowing : alway remember 
that. You'll stumble on peace presently and live 
again in thebabby — and so shall I. 'Tis rough on you, 
but you believe in another world. So this be only 
" Good-bye " till to-morrow, Try to see it like that. 
There's a God all right. I don't deny it no more. 
And you'll be His care now I be gone. He won't 
make 'e so happy as I have — twenty Gods couldn't ; 
but 'tis up to Him to do His Almighty best. 

Hester. Phil — Phil — my beautiful, strong Phil ! 



act m THE SHADOW 77 

To take your own life ! A forbidden thing ! Think 
of Christ ! 

Philip. Let Him think of me. He'll do to others 
as He'd be done by, Hester. I don't fear Him. Good- 
bye till to-morrow, 'Tis only to-morrow. 

Hester. Not yet — not yet. 

Philip. Mind about the letter. So long, my own 

life ! 

Hester. Not yet— Do 'e grudge a little minute out 

of eternity ? 

Philip. For honour mind— for honour. And Elias 
—you tell him about it, Hester. I'll lay he'll say 
some comforting things— a man built to comfort sad 

folks. 

[Hester is now dazed and holds him by his 
coat as he moves about. 
.Hester. For honour— for honour. 

Philip. That's my brave girl ! I'd like to go here 
with your arms round me— by God I would ! I'd like 
to shut my eyes on your blessed face; but that's 
beyond nature. 

Hester. For honour. No— no— don't kiss me yet 
— just a minute more. 

Philip. A minute! We shall have millions and 
millions of years together with luck— eh? [Kisses 
her.] There ! Mind that kiss and keep it warm till 
us run up against each other again somewhere. God 
be good to 'e, you brave, faithful woman, for you've 

done nought but love a The angels in heaven 

did ou<*ht to tumble over each other to comfort 'e. 



78 THE SHADOW act tii 

[Laughs.] I'll tell 'em to come, if I get the chance. 
Good-bye, my dinky dear ! 

Hester. Hold me close a minute more — just one 
minute ! 

Philip. There — there. Time's flying and he'll fly 
fast. Show your pluck. I mustn't be rough to 'e. 

'Tis the last thing I'd 

[Hester clings to him and he moves her arms, 
gently. 
Hester. Don't — don't — a second — a second — 
what's one second ? I can't — I can't let 'e go — you 
shan't leave a woman that's loved like me — 'tis cruel 
Phil— Phil— Oh Christ, hold him back— Oh, Jesus, 
spare him — spare him to me ! 

[She faints and falls to the ground. 
Piiilip. Thank the Lord ! 

[lie puts a cushion under her head. Kisses 
her hand passionately and goes off. 

Hester sloioly returns to consciousness 

and sits up on the floor. She stares round 

lier. She hears the faint song of a bird. 

Hester. The larks be in the sky and 'tis a brave 

morning. [A knock. Enter Willes Gay. 

Gay. Back again, like a bad penny ! Excuse me — 

why, what's happened ? 

Hester. [Light-headed.] The larks be in the sky 
and 'tis a brave morning, Mr. Gay. 

Gay. So 'tis then ; but where's Philip ? 
Hester. Gone to work. Did he have his break- 
fast ? I don't know. 



act in THE SHADOW 79 

Gay. Of course — a hungry man like him. Don't 
you sit there. 'Tisn't the place for you. 

Hester. I must have failed down, I reckon. There 
ain't no nature in me this morning. I'm cruel 
tired. 

Gay. Let me lift you in the armchair. There. To 
think of you sick ! 'Tis the shock about Elias ! 

Hester. Your child's a proper little terror, Willes 
Gay ; but Phil says the fighting sort make the finest 
men. He was that sort. He was — where is he? 
Where's my husband ? 

Gay. That's what I want to know. 

Hester. I've been dreaming. [Rises up and sits 
down again.] My legs are turned to water this 
morning. [Puts her head in her hands.] 'Tis a funny, 
fearful thing. Wait a minute — my brains be working 
again. 

Gay. Us had better fetch a doctor to 'e if you're 
ill. 

Hester. I'm never ill. Strong as a pony and 
happy as a bird. But — but I was holding him tight 
and he said, " Show your pluck." Why for was I 
holding him tight ? 

Gay. Lord knows. You don't need to hold him, I 
reckon. Wild hosses wouldn't drag the man away 
from you. 

Hester. [Suddenly cries out.] He's gone ! I'll 
never see him no more — the goyle — Reach me my 

sun-bonnet off that nail. He's there, because He 

wanted for my arms to be round him. Why not? 



80 THE SHADOW act hi 

Why shouldn't a woman have her arms round her 
husband ? Don't Eliza put her arms round you ? 

Gay. Not now the baby's come. 'Tis a cruel shame 
to lift the young above the old, like she do. 

[Gives Hester her sun-bonnet. 

Hester. To show my pluck — eh ? A very fine deed 
to close his eyes. The last thing he'd know was my 
lips on his. I'd go too — I wanted to go ; but he bade 
me stay in the world all alone with nought but a 
child for comfort. Cold comfort — eh ? 

Gay. Very cold comfort, indeed, in my opinion. 

Hester. How if I died first ? Would he be terrible 
vexed to find me waiting for him ? Or terrible happy ? 
Life ain't much fun lived all alone, Mr. Gay ? 

Gay. So I thought once ; but there's nothing like 
trying it along with other people to change your 
views. 

Hester. He chose the goyle for remembrance — a 
lonesome place, full of sweet grass nibbled down by 
the rabbits. The plover's nest in the bog up over. 
I'll go to him. And if God's got the heart to blame 
me, He ain't no God of love. 

Gay. Here— here— this talk's all moonshine ! 
Whatever is the matter, Hester? Don't tell me 
such a sensible pair be out ? You haven't quarrelled 
with the man ? 

Hester. When does the soul come into a child ? 

Gay. Be blessed if I know. But I can tell 'e when 
the devil do ; and that's exactly five minutes after he's 
born . 



act in THE SHADOW 81 

Hester. The soul's a deep question. A child can't 
perish if the soul be in him. Do it wait for the babe 
to be born ? 

Gay. A deep question sure enough. 

Hester. I say it don't. I say that a babby's got a 
soul from the moment a mother knows he's there. 
That's when his little heart begins to beat. He's some- 
body then. He may be no bigger than a tiny flower- 
bud ; but he's somebody, and his soul be hid in the 
petals. You can't do him no harm after that. He's the 
Lord's business after that. [Going.] Don't you under- 
stand? 'Tis only bringing up in the next world 
instead of this one. 'Tis only making an angel of him 
instead of a man. I'm going to my husband, you 
must know. I see all very plain now, and I be so 
strong as a lion again. Don't fear I'll be a coward ; 
I won't tempt him to turn back, nor nothing like that. 
I'll help him — he shan't flinch ; I'll push him on. I'll 
do it for him if he likes. He don't know me yet ! 
'Tis two good mile to the goyle ; but I'll run like a 
lapwing. 

Enter Thomas Turtle. 

Turtle. Where's Philip Blanchard to ? 

Hester. We can't tell that. We don't know where 
he is ; but we know where he will be. How far is 
it to heaven, postmaster ? You know everything. 
Tell me that. 

Gay. She's light-headed. 

Turtle. Tis enough to make the nation light- 

F 



82 THE SHADOW act hi 

headed. I heard it first — all comes to me first. It 
travelled the telegraph wires at half-past six of the 
clock. And knowing what these folks felt about it, I 
just ate my breakfast and put on my hat and came. 
I'm right again, Willes Gay. [Waves a telegram. 

Gay. Be you ever wrong ? 

Turtle. No doubt I do wrong like us all; but 
'tis a kind of rare and inner wrong-doiDg — so un- 
common that 'tis hidden from all eyes — including my 
own. Only my Maker catches me at it, and I shall 
know where I made my mistakes when I go afore the 
throne, no doubt. Elias Waycott's the matter. He 
murdered his uncle, as I said. 'Tis all out now. 

Gay. Confessed? 

Turtle. He has, if ever man did ; but not in words. 
Deeds speak louder that words. 

Gay. So they do, so they do. Nought teaches you 
that like a new-born child. 

Turtle, And he's done a dreadful deed of shame. 
Don't you go afore you hear the bitter truth, Mrs. 
Blanchard, The man's destroyed himself — Elias. 

Gay. Good powers — killed hisself ! 

Turtle. He has, and ended a crooked life with a 
crooked act. 

[.4 great change comes over Hester, but the 
men do not observe it. 

Turtle. 'Tis funny how often I'm right, and yet 
not funny neither when you think where I get my 
news from. They say in Little Silver that I walk 
arm-in-arm with the Almighty ; and they don't mean 



act in THE SHADOW 83 

it for a compliment. Yet 'tis truer than the fools 

know. 

[Hester has revealed that her mind is clearing. 
She becomes alive and alert. Noio she goes 
°ff by the same door that Philip went; 
but the men do not observe that she has gone. 

Gay. Killed hisself ? However did he do it ? 
They watch 'em like a cat watches a mouse after 
they be sentenced to die. 

Turtle, Well you may ask that. 'Twas all of a 
piece, Willes Gay. The cunning of the serpent 
under the harmlessness of the dove. Be sure 'twas all 
thought out so soon as he heard his doom. You see 
he made great friends of the prison people before the 
trial, and the officers were deceived. A great power 
of deceit in that man. The warders thought no evil 
of him — they liked him and were sorry for him. 
And, yesterday night, when he sat writing his 
confessions, as murderers do, he asked a man who 
watched over him — quite innocent like — for a pen- 
knife to scratch out a word. And the man — he'll 
suffer for it and lose his job, and so he ought — he was 
deceived and saw nothing in the prisoner's deep 
question and never dreamed what he was after. A 
trick worthy of the devil, you might say. He took 
the penknife and began to scratch out, and then — 
afore t'other could lift a finger — swish ! the dreadful 
wretch had dashed it in under his ear and cut a great 
vein as runs there ! The doctor was sent for, but he 



84 THE SHADOW act m 

could do nought — the man was gone and his life- 
blood all run away. 

Gay. [Who has sat with open mouth listening to the 
story. ,] Stars in heaven ! To think of it — such a 
gentle creature ! 

Turtle. The devil looks after his own, Butcher 
Gay, and for that matter, as I've often said, if he'd 
only look after his own and not torment the chosen, 
'twould be a much more respectable world and a lot 
of good time saved. 

Gay. To pile suicide on murder ! And they was 
getting up a petition for his life a'ready. 

Turtle. They were. I know all about it. But 
man proposes and God disposes, and always have done 
since I can remember Him. And grim as a ghost 
will the Almighty look when Elias Waycott comes 
unbidden afore Him. You can blaze it abroad, Willes 

Gay, and you, Mrs. Blanchard 

[Finds that Hester is not there. 

Gay. Slipped off to tell her husband, no doubt. 
She's queer this morning — all over the shop — her 
brain reeling. Horror on horror for them. I hope 
it won't make no difference to her child. 

Turtle. Nothing happens afore it happens. 'Tis a 
great thought and I've often cheered a downcast 
sinner with it. We come and we go, and 'tis for a 
man like I am, who finds life as easy as A. B.C., to 
help them that make such a hash of it. 

Gay. No doubt — no doubt. But the day won't 
stand still along of these dreadful things. 



act in THE SHADOW 85 

Turtle. There's room for all in a well-regulated 
mind. We must have good and bad ; and when you 
get the large outlook, like mine, all fits into its place, 
and you're never flustered with joy, nor stricken with 
sorrow ; you're never pufled up nor cast down ; but 
you go on your rounds, like the sun in heaven, ready 
for the best and worst, with your gifts always at the 
service of your weaker brethren. 

Gay. A thousand pities there ain't more such men. 

Turtle. You mustn't say that, neither. People 
like me be the leaven that leavens the lump ; but you 
can't have the cake of life all plums, Butcher Gay. 

[Exeunt Willes Gay and Thomas Turtle. 

Scene III : An old, neolithic hut circle in a coonibe at 
Dartmoor edge. Here lies a rough ring of stones 
piled irregularly and built together with living 
grass, fern and heath. Above the circle ascend,s a 
ivhite-thorn tree, and behind it there lifts a hill to 
the horizon. Here stands a tor, piled raggedly, 
like a small mountain, against a bright, clear shy. 
The hour is fair and sunny. Philip Blanchard 
sits beside the hut circle and leans back against a 
stone behind him . A few moments elapse ; he lifts 
himself, flings of his hat and puts hand in his 
pocket. He listens. Faint and far off comes a 
voice. He listens still and the voice grows louder. 
Johnny Slocombe. [Off.] Mr, Blanchard, Mr. 
Blanchard ! [Philip stands up and walks a few paces. 



86 THE SHADOW act in 

Johnny. [Louder.'] Mr. Blanchard — a reprieve — 
there's a reprieve, Mr. Blanchard ! 

[Philip falls back. Grows unsteady and sits 
again. 

Johnny. [Of.] Where be yon, Mr. Blanchard ? 
Philip. Here, by the roundy-poimdy. 

[After a pause Johnny Slocombe runs in and 
flings himself down panting. 

Johnny. I've run all the way from the village, 
master — all the way without stopping. Your missis 
met me and give me a shilling — a whole shilling — 
to run and tell you there's a reprieve. And she's 
coming too, but of course an old woman like her 
can't travel so fast as me. 

Philip. Yes ; she's coming, I see her sun-bonnet 
down below there. Have I got a shilling, I wonder ? 
[Feels in his pocket^] Nay, but I've got two. You 
ran for something, Johnny. 

[Gives the boy a florin. 

Johnny. My stars ! I be very near afraid of such 
a lot of money. 

Philip. You earned it. A reprieve. Strange it 
came so quick. No more to tell ? 

Johnny. That's all she said. 

Philip. I'll go down along to meet her. 

[Exit Philip excited and hopeful. 
Johnny. [Walks up and down still panting. Then 



act in THE SHADOW 87 

he sits where Philip sat.] Three shilling ! [Examines 
the money.] Thirty-six pennies, that is ! Shan't tell 
father — nor yet mother. 

[Exit Johnny slowly, thinking. 

[After a short pause Philip enters, terribly 
cast down, and Hester, excited and pant- 
ing, follows him, 

Hester. Don't take it so. 

Philip. 'Twas done but for the doing. You lied 
to me — lied to a dying man ! Nay, I was a dead man 
out of mind, and you fetched me back to this bitter 
hour. 

Hester. Hear me, then. 'Twas no lie, but truth. 
Wasn't you reprieved? Didn't Elias send your 
reprieve from his grave ? 

Philip. 'Tis only another pang to death to know 
he's gone. 

Hester. 'Tis life, I tell you ! You can't die now. 
God's willed it and you can't kick against God. 

Philip. I'm my own master yet. 

Hester. You're not ; you're not no more. And 
I've got to show you you're not. I've got to larn 
you that you must live. Never was such a trumpet 
call to a man to live as you've heard to-day. He did 
a glorious deed and you be powerless afore it — unless 
you'd fling the gift of a man's life back in his 
face. 

Philip. I didn't ax for the gift and I won't take it. 



88 THE SHADOW act hi 

Be I the sort to take gifts ? I give gifts — I don't 
take 'em. Shall my life go on in the smell of that 
man's blood ? No man shall give his life for 
mine, I tell you. To have a thing forced upon 
you — to 

Hester. Don't measure it ; don't weigh it ! Begin 
to weigh and the greatest deeds that we can do are 
light. 

Philip. Against a man's pride yes — everything 
weighs light against a man's pride. I'm proud — 
proud as hell. Shall I go on living among the people 
and let him rot, without even a stone to tell the world 
what he was ? 

Hester. Can pride rise above the life of a friend ? 
'Tisn't for you to say what you will do, or won't 
do. Tis for you to bend and go on your knees. 
The world goes on its knees afore Christ — don't it ? 
And this man be your very own Christ — and gave his 
life for yours. 

Philip. Not for mine — not for mine ! I won't 
take it — I'll deny him and defy him. I be going to 
die, too, and join him afore the day's cold and say, 
" There's my life back for yours ! " I won't take his 
life. I won't smother and choke under such a fearful 
gift. Death's a holiday to that. 

Hester. [After reflecting a moment and ivatching 
him as he strides up and dovm.] So be it then. You 
owe him nought. Smart no more, for you're outside 
this altogether. Elias didn't mean that. He knew 
you too well to mean that. 'Twas only my foolish- 



act in THE SHADOW 89 

ness to think it. This is nothing to do with you. 
Be at peace — give over raging. Not for you he did 
it ; but for me ! He loved me, and I'm a woman and 
can take it from him, because of his dear love. I 
can take it — on my knees, and thank God for ever- 
more for making such a man. And my child shall 
do the same, as soon as his little tongue can tell 
it. He loved me— so cruel well that, sooner than 
my light should go out, he did this. A saint of 
God — and saints give more than us common folk 
can pay again. We can only pray our blessings on 
them. 

Philip. 'Tis worse than gall to be in the debt of 
the dead ! 

Hester. Is it so hard to take from him that loved 
so well ? He gave his goodness like the trees their 
fruit — gave and gave again, with never a thought 
for thanks. 

Philip. Justice, I tell you. Shall I stand by 
and let him go down to the dust with all men's scorn 
and hate for his gravestone ? His good name be in 
our care now, and I'm crying out to shout it to the 
people. 

Hester. The people ! What are the people ? God 
Almighty's gotten his prize for him. 'Tis there, not 
here. If you tell the people this thing, then he died 
in vain. You call for justice — then be just to him. 
All cowardice would it be to die now and flout the 
wish of the dead. 

Philip. His memory shall be pure. 



90 THE SHADOW act hi 

Hester. It is for ever ; for it lies in God's keeping ; 
and when the books be opened all men will know 
what he was. But here — for the minute — for our 
little minute together — you and me — we must — for 
justice — for justice to him and the mighty thing he 
did and the reason he did it 

Philip. You're selfish to speak so. 'Tis no tempta- 
tion what you offer me. 

Hester. I ban't trying to tempt you, Phil. If 
you can say that, 'tis you be selfish. You're not 
thinking of him no more — you're thinking of yourself 
now — yourself and your own peace. My Philip ain't 
brave no more — he's a coward now. If my love 
hungers dreadful to save you alive — be that strange ? 
But I'm not putting my love afore you — I'm only 
putting his love afore both of us. [Caressing him.] 
Believe that, for God's sake, whether you live or die. 

[Philip puts lier away. 

Hester. For him — for him, so that his greatness 
and loving-kindness be not all flung in the dust. 
Don't he speak to us in this as never man spoke to 
men ? And shan't we listen ? I'd have raised 
Heaven to prevent it — but him and his God was 
stronger than you and me. Don't you tell me I'm a 
selfish woman. Try to think what 'tis to give up all 
— all — and then to have all given back to you. Phil 
— Phil — didn't I say * good-bye ' to 'e ? Didn't I lose 
'e ? Wasn't you dead ? Be I to lose you twice ? 
'Tis more than you can ax a poor woman to do that. 
Don't rob me of my precious gift — don't flout the 



act in THE SHADOW 91 

giver. With his own hand he gave you back 
to me. [She iveepff. 

Philip. D'you want me to live in hell ? 

Hester. Better that than spoil his heaven. Live 
in hell then — and I'll live there along with you. You 
be called to suffer — then suffer — let it be your bravery 
to suffer — let that be your pride — to suffer as no man 
has suffered yet ! Bend under the yoke for his sake. 
You'd rather die than live; but you can't die now 
— you can't turn his joy into grief. The pain of 
death was over for you. You'd done the hard part 
— you'd left me. May be you've suffered enough 
already. And Elias — the prayer of such a man will 
count — eh, Phil ? He'll call on God for us— so that 
there shall be a little bleak sunshine for our child 
when he comes. 

Philip. You can think o' that ? And me twice a 
murderer now. 'Tis almost more than a man built 
like me can do to 

Hester. God'll larn you how. He'll make the 
hard possible — for the sake of Elias. 

Philip. Nothing can ever be the same again. You 
can never be the same again. I can never wake up 
no more and watch you asleep beside me like I did 
My child won't be nothing but a pang to me now 
Everything be turned black as night and hell, look 
where I will. 

Hester. Shadows pass — shadows pass, I tell you — 
they can't hang still for all time. Never a thunder 
cloud but its darkness goes by. 



92 THE SHADOW act hi 

Philip. Not till the bolt has fallen. 

Hester. It has done — and missed you. 

Philip. Because another have took the lightning to 
his heart for pity. Curse pity — curse his pity. It 
have turned my life into death. 

Hester. Don't say it. None be so strong he can 
stand alone. Don't all men suffer from their fellows, 
or gain from them ? Be true to him that was so true 
to me. Be loyal to him that w:is so lo) T al to me. 
Think of me a little too. Don't put no more on a 
poor, daft woman. And yet I'll bear and bear until 
I break for yon, Phil. I'll suffer more yet. Fire and 
water I'll fight for you — time's self I'll fight and 
make it fly. 

Philip. Time was over. I'd bid good-bye to time. 
I'd sat aloft here and thought of the old men who 
lived in these here stones, and roamed my eyes round 
the world and the village and took leave of every- 
thing. 

Hester. Not everything. You didn't know every- 
thing. There's no righting wrong in the grave ; 
there's no making good there. You can't creep in the 
pit now with all your work to do. For him to go was 
different — one life for three he gave. For you to go 
— you've got to live with me — with me beside you 
always. That's what he willed — that's what he died 
for. And my poor hands be here — always here for you 
to take hold on — and my poor heart's beating only for 
you. Don't break it. \JIer voice grows faint and she 
shoios iveahiess. She holds out her hands to him, but 



aei n] THE SHADOW 93 

he does not move.] For your Hester— for love of your 
Hester. [She kneels to him, then she throws herself at 
his feet and puts her head upon them and her arms 
round his legs.] Live— live— live ! 

[Philip looks down at her. Then he takes a 
pistol from his pocket. Be unloads it and 
flings it on the ground. He bends down 
and strokes her hair. 

Philip. I be going to go on living, Hester. 



[The End] 



PRINTED AT 

THE BALLANTYNE PRESS 

LONDON 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: April 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 



BKENTANO'S 

Jooksellers & Stationers. 

Wa«hinRton. D. C. 



